


Lyonnesse

by Lindenharp



Series: Changes!verse [7]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Romance, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-09
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-08 19:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindenharp/pseuds/Lindenharp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A supposedly harmless planet holds unexpected dangers, and disturbing revelations about the Doctor's past.</p><p>"Old business doesn't always stay in the past. You should know that, Jack. An' it's particularly true for me. Time Lord, remember?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

> A land of old upheaven from the abyss  
> By fire, to sink into the abyss again;  
> Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt  
> **Alfred, Lord Tennyson, _Idylls of the King_**

 

There's blood on his hands. At first, he thinks it's a lingering fragment of nightmare -- in his dreams, blood often rushes like an angry river through canyons of flame -- except that he doesn't remember having a nightmare. Waking never banishes them that quickly. He doesn't remember going to sleep, either. He only sleeps when he must, and it's too soon. The last time was only... a week or two ago?

And why would he fall asleep in a sitting position? His oddly-dulled senses filter snippets of data to his brain. His back is leaning against smooth metal, while his arse is pressing on something equally cold and hard, but with a textured surface. A shelf-like projection juts out just above his head. Beyond it, he can make out rough walls -- a cave? -- and tall columns that split into fluid, twisting branches. _Trees? Never heard of a forest growin' in a cave._

Blinking, he returns his attention to his hands. _Definitely blood. Mine?_ There are no visible cuts on his hands, and he doesn't feel pain anywhere. He gives a tentative sniff. The acrid tang is familiar. _Not mine, though. What species?_ His mind gropes for details, and it's like sifting through puzzle pieces turned upside down, with no way to tell which ones are the same colour. _Bipedal... sentient..._

Some of the blood has dried to rusty patches, but most of it is still damp. Hasn't been that long. Somewhere nearby, an intelligent being is wounded, perhaps dying. _Gotta find it... help it._ Did he already try to help, and fail? Is that why he has alien blood on his hands? There's no body within sight, living or dead. _Maybe it got scared, an' ran?_

Only one way to find out. His muscles are sore and his joints stiff. He lets out a soft grunt as he crawls out from beneath the projection, and grasps its edge to steady him as he stands. A wave of dizziness does not help his already blurry vision, but it passes quickly. His surroundings come into sharper focus. The floor of the "cave" is a rectangular grid. The walls are embedded with metallic balls in a symmetrical pattern. The "trees" merge seamlessly into the high ceiling, and appear to be made of the same substance. Not plants, but somethin' organic.

_Idiot. Mus' be still half asleep. 'Course it's organic. TARDISes are grown-- bloody hell! _ One moment, it feels like a thick, smothering duvet is wrapped around his head; in the next, it seems to fall away. He shivers, though the ambient temperature is always kept higher than he likes, for his companions' sake. _What happened? What got me so muddled that I didn't recognise the TARDIS?_

He reaches out with his mind. _All right, old girl?_ A reassuring touch echoes back across the bond. The calm it brings lasts only for a moment, because he suddenly knows three dreadful truths: the TARDIS is in the Vortex, Rose and Jack are not on board, and the blood staining his hands is human.

 

*****

 

Two days earlier...

 

"We need clorinthium," the Doctor says. "Twenty kilos -- or twenty-five would be better."

Jack grimaces. "That much raw ore is gonna be hard to find, Doc."

"Not raw. Refined, to a purity of .9993 or better."

"Sorry, I misspoke. It _won't_ be hard to find. It'll be damned near impossible."

"You'd better hope not, Captain. 'Less you plan to give up your silly human prejudices about breathin' carbon monoxide."

Rose recognises her cue. She loves her blokes, she really does, but sometimes they can be such... blokes. "Oi! Translation, please. Some of us didn't take A-level chemistry." _'Specially since 'A' is for 'alien'._

"Carb--" Jack begins.

She rolls her eyes. "I know what carbon monoxide is, Jack." _I'm from the 21st century, you git, not the Dark Ages._ "What's the clori-stuff, an' why is it hard to get?"

"Clorinthium is a mineral," Jack explains. "Soft, like gypsum or calcite. Looks a bit like blue chalk. Nobody bothers to extract more than they need, because it's difficult to mine and has limited uses."

"'Cept one of those uses is in the TARDIS's air recyclin' system."

"So, if we need this clorinthium, but we can't buy it anywhere, then..."

Jack sighs. "Where do you keep the shovels, Doctor?"

Rose is surprised to discover that Jack really means _shovels._ They're made of some futuristic alloy, strong and lightweight, but otherwise, they might have come out of a normal garden shed or DIY store. Apparently, the vibrations from power tools turn clorinthium into useless dust.

At least finding the stuff is easy enough. The Doctor consults the TARDIS's astronomical data banks, and ten minutes later, the three of them are stepping out onto the surface of CM-2309-6.

"Doctor, how come this planet hasn't got a proper name?"

The Time Lord doesn't take his eyes off the portable scanner in his right hand. "No reason to give it one. It's uninhabited, and off the major space lanes. A scout ship or courier might land here to do repairs or fill up on water, but no one would want to stay."

"It doesn't look too bad to me." Rose scans the area again. It's dry, but hardly a desert. There are small trees scattered about, patches of grass, and she can see a narrow stream running around the base of a low hill. Jagged rock formations shaped like old-fashioned flatirons push out of the ground at a drunken angle. They're all a dusty shade of red, and she's reminded of pictures she's seen of the American West, or certain parts of Australia.

Jack studies the readouts on his wristcomp. "It's what I'd call a marginal planet. Nothing seriously wrong with it. No extremes of climate, no dangerous wildlife or poisonous plants. It just doesn't have a whole lot to offer. You could grow crops with the help of irrigation. There's iron and other useful metals, but not enough to set up a major industrial infrastructure. There are hundreds of more appealing worlds in this sector for expanding empires to colonise."

The Doctor shouts from 50 metres away, his voice echoing off the rocks, "Stop lollygaggin', Jack, an' come an' help me dig!"

"Yessir! Right away, sir!" Jack shouts back, in a cheerful parody of military obedience. He jogs over to the spot where the Doctor stands, pointing his scanner at the ground. Rose follows a few strides behind him. "How far down is it?"

"Only 1.32 metres."

"That's good news."

"The bad news is that it's a thin vein running horizontal to the surface."

Jack strips off his coat and tosses it onto a convenient rock. "Can't say that I've ever been fond of digging trenches. Well, at least no one's shooting at us."

"Like in the First World War?" Rose asks.

"Yeah, and a thousand others. It might not be high-tech, but a few feet of dirt gives pretty good protection, even against energy weapons." Jack gives a wolfish grin. "And if not, it saves somebody the trouble of digging a grave."

"You goin' to natter all day, Jack, or are you plannin' on doin' some actual work?" There's no humour in the Doctor's growling voice.

Rose opens her mouth, but before she can speak, Jack shakes his head at her. _Don't._ Without a word to either of his partners, he picks up one of the shovels and thrusts it into the rocky ground.

An hour later -- and it feels even longer -- Rose is ready to explode with restlessness and boredom. She tried to help with the digging, until her aching muscles forced her to quit. She's in good shape. She can climb walls and swing from ropes, and God knows she does plenty of running, but she hasn't got the brute strength to be a navvy.

The Doctor and Jack tell her to go in the TARDIS and rest. She doesn't feel like resting. _Got all this energy in me, and I've got to do something, or I'll go bonkers._ "I'm taking a walk," she announces.

"Don't get lost."

"Don't go far."

Rose lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, Mum. I promise." She heads towards the stream. She could always follow her footprints back, but the water makes an easier guide. Plus, it'll be handy if she gets thirsty. The Doctor has already checked the water and declared it free of parasites and other nasties. Continuing downstream, she follows the little river around the back of a hill, then across an open stretch. Half a mile further on, it passes between two clusters of trees, then veers around a large rock formation.

The trees are between four and five metres high, with thin, drooping branches covered with pale yellow leaves. Rose plops down on a grassy patch between two tree roots, and leans back against the trunk. It's quiet here, beyond the noise of shovels and men's voices. After a few minutes with her eyes closed, she begins to hear the sounds in the quiet. Murmurs from the stream, wind in the tree branches, and a soft whir that might be an insect. From further downstream comes a faint, irregular tapping that reminds her of a woodpecker.

Rose stands up, ready to continue her explorations. The stream has cut a channel through a rock formation the size of a three-story house. The narrow bank between the water and the sheer rock walls is (mostly) level enough for her to walk along. Four times she has to scramble over metre-high boulders. When she comes to the last of these, she stands on top of it, enjoying her new perspective on the narrow gorge. _You'd think I was whatsisface on Everest. Not exactly a record-breaking climb. Still, I'll bet I'm the only human -- the only person -- ever to stand here._

Then she sees the flower. At first, she thinks it's just a trick of light and shadow on the far wall of the gorge. _Like the Man in the Moon -- or the Moon Rabbit that Mei-Ling's auntie told us stories about._ Rose stares intently, not blinking. Those are not shadows or random patterns in the rough surface. The shapes are too even and regular.

She jumps down from the boulder. The stream is narrow enough to leap across, but it might be a slippery landing on the other side. _Not a good place to break an ankle. I'd feel a complete prat if the blokes had to carry me back to the TARDIS._ Rose wades across in a few quick strides. The water comes up to her knees. It's bloody cold, but at least it's clean. She's slogged through enough swamps and sewers to appreciate that.

Once on the far bank, she stands directly in front of the image sculpted into the rock. It's definitely a flower. Sort of like a daisy, only with wider petals. Parts of the flower are perfectly rounded; others still show chisel marks whose angles haven't been smoothed. _It's not finished. Someone's still working on this._

She's thinking about the tap-tap-tap of the "woodpecker" she heard earlier when footsteps crunch on the gravel behind her.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

"Go away, Outsider! This is my place!"

Rose whirls around. The young male facing her is humanoid, but not human. She _thinks_ he's young, but for all she knows, he could be older than the Doctor. The spiky crest of silver-white hair makes it hard to tell. Still, there's something about his tall, gawky figure that says he isn't fully grown, and the resentful scowl on his tawny face is one that she's seen on every thirteen-year-old boy she's ever met.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." She gestures vaguely at the carving behind her. "Did you make that? It's beautiful."

"It's not finished yet." He adds, almost defiantly, "It's a ghrazi flower."

"It's beautiful," she repeats. "Do they grow around here?"

"No." Apparently she's just asked the stupidest question in the history of the Universe.

Her thoughts are racing. _The Doctor said nobody lives here, nobody would choose to live here... but that carving isn't the sort of thing you knock off in a couple of hours while the water tank is filling. Could be his ship is on the blink. Or even crashed. _ "Is your ship far from here? Do you need help? My friends are good mechanics--"

"My ship?" He sounds genuinely puzzled.

_Maybe he does live here? Jack said this planet is the backside of nowhere. Maybe these people came here to hide 'cos they're political refugees or something. Or one of those religious groups that likes to be away from everyone else. _

"Merron! Get away from the Outsider!"

Now she knows for sure that the carver -- Merron -- is young. The newcomer is only a little taller, but broader in the shoulders and more muscled. His voice is deep, authoritative. Like Merron, he wears a handwoven tunic and trousers, but his clothes have intricate patterns of colour and texture swirling through the fabric.

"_Kiy? _ What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same, little brother. In fact, I _will_ ask you, once we get home. Now move away from the Outsider." He flicks an appraising glance over Rose. It isn't what she'd call a friendly look, but she doesn't get the feeling he's about to attack. "There was no report of a ship landing."

"Our ship is... quiet," she says. "And small." _It_ looks _small, anyway_. "I'm Rose Tyler. From Earth."

"Go back to your ship, Outsider." The older alien turns, and starts to lead his brother away.

"Wait!" She doesn't like him, but that won't keep her from doing the decent thing. Even if his people _want_ to be here, it's still likely they could use some assistance. "Do you need any help?"

He looks back, frowning. "Help?"

"With repairs, supplies, medicines, or... anything."

Kiy laughs. "The A'atra need no help from Outsiders."

_You're very welcome, Mr. High-and-Mighty._ She takes a deep breath. "G'bye, Merron. Nice to meet you. And I do think your flower is lovely."

Both aliens spin around. Merron looks frightened; his brother, suspicious. Kiy scans the rock-face. He stares at the flower carving, then at his brother. "You idiot!"

"I need to practise!"

"You need to have some sense beaten into your head. A _ghrazi_, Merron? What in Havru's name were you thinking?"

"I thought it would impress Master Raffin. He only takes two apprentices at a time -- you _know_ that, Kiy."

"We will talk later about what I know -- and what I should have known." Without a further word, Kiy pushes Merron in front of him, down the narrow trail to the far end of the gorge. Within a minute, the two aliens are out of sight.

Rose takes a last look at the carving, then heads upstream towards the TARDIS, leaving the dark gorge and the delicate, unfinished ghrazi flower behind.

 

*****

Jack tosses down his shovel. _Time for a break._ The Doctor continues digging. Jack has always been a competitive kind of guy. The fact that the Doctor is his lover doesn't prevent him from trying to outdo the Time Lord in almost every area from sexual technique to rewiring circuitry to Rigellian haiku. Jack keeps himself fit. His 51st century genes and body mods (not all of them precisely legal) give him an advantage over most humans. But when it comes to sheer endurance, he can't outlast someone with a binary cardiovascular system. It doesn't bother him any more than it would bother him to lose to a Jotun in a height contest. _Everyone has advantages and disadvantages. You've just got to figure out the most strategic way to use your advantages_ and _the other guy's disadvantages. _

He's just about ready to resume work when he sees Rose running towards them. She's excited about something, but this isn't her being-chased-by-monsters, full-speed run. The Doctor stops digging. Jack can see the exact moment when he relaxes, recognising that there's no immediate crisis.

Rose skids to a stop, Her face is flushed, and her hair ruffled by the wind, and she's breathing fast. Looking at her makes Jack think about things they really don't have time for right now. The sidelong look that the Doctor throws at him says that he knows exactly what Jack is thinking about. The look that Jack throws back says, _You're thinking about it, too. _

"Jack! Doctor! There are people living here!" She pours out a jumbled tale of rock carvings and not-quite-friendly aliens.

"They can't be native to this world." the Doctor says. "Mus' be a small settlement, or someone would've noticed."

Jack frowns. "Obviously, they don't want company dropping by. I suggest we leave them alone, and we keep an eye open to make sure they leave _us_ alone."

"What if they need help?"

"You offered, they said no," the Doctor reminds her.

Rose nods reluctantly Kiy and Merron had looked healthy enough. Their clothes were clean and in good repair -- aside from the stone dust smudged all over Merron's outfit -- and very beautifully made. _Not exactly starving beggars in rags. _

"I can't identify their species," Jack muses. "I mean, humanoids with golden skin and white hair could be from a dozen different worlds. Did they say anything about their home planet?"

"The older one -- stuck-up git! -- said that the A'atra didn't need help from Outsiders."

"A'atra... why does that sound familiar?" Jack muses aloud. "Oh, yeah! Lyonnesse." He chuckles. "Rose, the stuck-up git was having you on. Or else he's nuts. A'atra is the name of the race that supposedly lived on the planet Lyonnesse."

"Huh? Why s'possedly?"

"Lyonnesse doesn't exist. I've heard legends about it. Beautiful planet -- peaceful, prosperous, a perpetual golden age of art, science, medicine, poetry, blah blah blah. The sort of world that everyone would like to believe exists." He shakes his head, grinning. "I used to know guys who specialised in art cons. Some of them included 'antiquities from Lyonnesse' in their merchandise. They'd buy cheap trinkets on Keldorn or Sarhila, make 'em look old, and peddle them for outrageous sums."

"You getting nostalgic about the good old days?" Rose asks.

Only a few months ago, Jack would have bristled at this reminder of his shady past. Now he just shrugs, and accepts the jab as friendly teasing. "Nah. Never saw much fun in bilking the gullible. I always preferred to go after the greedy."

"What did the flower look like?" It's not until the Doctor speaks that Jack realises how quiet he's been.

Rose tilts her head to one side, thinking. "Sort of like a daisy, 'cept the petals were shorter and rounder. And the centre was bigger. It wasn't painted, so I dunno about the colours."

"Did he tell you the name of it?" The Time Lord's voice is hushed but urgent.

"Yeah. Didn't I say? Merron called it a ghrazi flower. His brother was really--"

The Doctor interrupts her. "You're sure, Rose? You're sure of the name?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Ghrazi. Why?"

Jack has a more immediate concern. "You okay, Doctor? You're not looking so great."

The Doctor doesn't answer either question. He picks up a bucket filled with chunks of clorinthium. "Time to process the first batch." As the Time Lord heads towards the TARDIS, Jack and Rose exchange looks and hurry after him.

 

*****

Something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. Even before the three of them arrive in the lab, she can see the warning signs in the Doctor's quick steps and his rigid shoulders. Without a word, he sets the bucket on the glossy black counter and begins opening cupboards and drawers. The previously-empty counter fills with all sorts of scientific odds and ends: flasks of coloured liquid, coils of plastic tubing, an old-fashioned mercury thermometer (marked in Fahrenheit), a pair of tongs, and a silver-plated corkscrew.

Rose hasn't seen him so closed off in a long time. She's reminded of their first trip together, when she asked about his planet and he became as prickly as a hedgehog. She hadn't known until later how much of his anger had been disguised pain. She's thinking about the best way to get past his barricades when Jack jumps in.

"Doctor, are you going to make us do this the hard way?"

"Thought you liked the hard way, Captain."

Jack ignores the quip. He doesn't usually pass up a chance to joke about sex, even in life-or-death situations. "As I see it, this can go two ways. Rose and I can keep coaxing and badgering you until you lose your cool, explode like a barrel of dektrasolene, and tell us what's going on. Alternatively, you can save us a lot of time, stress, and worry, and tell us now."

"No reason for you two t'worry," the Doctor replies immediately. He sets a large plastic sieve in the sink, and half fills it with clorinthium.

_My turn_. "Oh, no, Doctor. You don't get to say that. You don't get to tell the people who love you that they shouldn't worry about you. We want to help."

The Doctor picks up a flask of clear liquid, and pours five drops into a clean beaker. He adds a pint of water, watches carefully as the mixture fizzes and turns green, then pours it over the clorinthium. "There's nothing you can do to help."

_You silly, stubborn git! _ "We can listen. That's what partners do." The Doctor's right hand is pressed against the counter; she strokes it lightly with her thumb. He tenses, but doesn't pull away.

From the other side, Jack wraps an arm around the Doctor's shoulders. "If what's on your mind is old business, we won't push you to talk about it--"

"Yeah." _Least, not right now. _

"But if it's got something to do with the current situation," Jack continues, "we need to know. Who are those people? Are they a threat?"

Rose starts to protest, then bites back the words. _I don't think Merron would hurt us, and his brother didn't seem too bad, but we don't know what the rest of them are like. _

The Doctor is still for a long moment. He disentangles himself from his lovers, then turns to face them both. His blue eyes are clouded and weary. "Old business doesn't always stay in the past. You should know that, Jack. An' it's particularly true for me. Time Lord, remember?" He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets. "I think those people are exactly who they say they are. The ghrazi is-- _was_ \-- the sacred flower of Lyonnesse. Nobody else would know that."

"But--" Rose can only manage the single word.

The Doctor finishes her sentence. "But Lyonnesse doesn't exist. It never existed. An' that's my fault."

 

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

_"But Lyonnesse doesn't exist. It never existed. An' that's my fault."_

Jack and Rose gawk at him.

The Doctor mixes up another batch of green fizzy liquid to sprinkle over the clorinthium. "Needs to absorb the catalyst for an hour. Jack, you can get back to excavating. I've got to check the filtration controls." Without another word, he walks out of the lab and turns left, heading deeper into the heart of the TARDIS.

Rose moves, as if to follow, but stops herself. "He needs to be by himself. Jus' for a little while."

Jack takes her hand. He hasn't known the Doctor for as long as Rose, but he recognises the signs of a soldier besieged by unwelcome memories. "Let's go outside."

Having no better destination, they head over to the excavation area. Rose perches on a sun-warmed shelf of rock. "He's been doing better."

Jack seats himself beside her. _The damn digging can wait for a few minutes._ "Yeah. He's had fewer nightmares, especially since we started sharing a bed."

"He's gonna be okay."

"Yeah. He will." Jack knows far more than he wants to about the scars that battle can inflict on the mind. Still, the Doctor's survived experiences that would have left a human raving mad or catatonic. Jack leans in towards Rose and gives her a one-armed hug. "Tell me everything you know about the Time War."

"Me? You're the Time Agent--"

"Ex-Time Agent. And until a few months ago, I thought Time Lords were extinct and the Time War was a myth."

"You prob'ly know as much as I do, and that's not a lot."

"The Daleks tried to take over the Universe. The Time Lords stopped them." _At the cost of their own destruction._

Rose shivers, despite the sunshine. "Ten million Dalek ships, burning."

"What?" _Ten million ships... how many Daleks did_ that _add up to?_

"That's what the Doctor said. It was before you came on board. He was having nightmares, talking in his sleep. He said, 'You all burned. I made it happen.'" She looks at Jack with troubled eyes. "He was dreaming then, but he was wide awake when he told me that his planet burned. Nothing left but dust and rocks. I think that's how-- I think that he--"

"Yeah. I think so, too." _No wonder he has nightmares._

"What I don't get," Rose says, "is how a planet can have never existed. I know you can change history if somebody dies or... doesn't, when he's supposed to..." She stares at the ground, which has become suddenly fascinating.

"Or when a careless idiot lets a plague loose?"

"We stopped it," Rose reminds him. Her fingers comb slowly through his hair, lingering on the back of his neck. "But even if we hadn't, the Earth would still be there, right? History would be different, but the planet wouldn't... disappear."

"That's what they taught me at the Agency. You can change history for an individual, or even a planet. It's theoretically possible to erase an individual's timeline so that he never existed. Completely illegal, but I've heard rumours..." He's restless, and needs to be doing something, so he stands, grabs a shovel, and starts clearing another square-metre of ground.

Rose slips off her rock-perch a moment later, and begins to pace. "Seems almost worse than dying. If someone's dead, at least people still remember him."

He stops digging, and rests his clasped hands on top of the shovel's handle. "To remove an entire _planet_ from the timelines -- the complexity, the power required -- Rose, I can't even conceive of it."

"Not jus' one, Captain -- thousands."

Jack spins around to face the Doctor. _How the hell did he sneak up on--_ "Thousands?" he repeats, sure that his face looks as blank and stupid as he feels. _Not possible. Can't be._

"Thousands of planets erased from Time," the Doctor says evenly. "Both sides did it. Sometimes it was deliberate, like blasting a firebreak. Sometime it was--" He smiles a crooked smile with no humour in it. "--collateral damage."

He remembers a scene he witnessed few months ago: a senior Time Agent who wanted to arrest Jack, confronting a calm, implacable Doctor.  


> _"Are you proposing to declare war on the Time Agency?"_
> 
> "Not war, Colonel. An' you should be very grateful for that. You don't want to see how I wage war. You really don't."

At the time, he had seen it as part bluff, part Time Lord arrogance. Now he knows that the Doctor's warning had been the verbal equivalent of "showing steel" -- raising a sword from its scabbard just enough to demonstrate that it was razor sharp, not blunted for mere ceremonial display.

Jack hears the Doctor's unspoken words. _This is who I am. This is what I have done._ He looks at his friend, his partner, his lover. Eyes the colour of a winter sea gaze steadily back at him. "War's never pretty, Doctor."

The Time Lord's only reply is a nod. It's enough.

Some time during this conversation, Jack realises, Rose linked hands with him. She extends her right hand and grasps the Time Lord's left hand. "What do we do now, Doctor?"

Jack notices the slight emphasis on _we. Clever girl._

The Doctor sighs. "Time to pay a call on the neighbours. Let's stow the gear in the TARDIS, first. Come along, you two."

 

*****

 

Within ten minutes, they're retracing Rose's route along the stream. For once, the humans aren't plaguing him with questions. Their limitless curiosity is one of the things he likes best about the species, but right now, he's grateful for the silence. He doesn't want to talk about the Time War. He doesn't want to think about the Time War, but he's got no choice. He has to investigate these people who claim to be from Lyonnesse. It's absurd, but he believes it's true.

He'd rather do this alone, but he knows what will happen if he tries to leave the humans in the TARDIS. They'll flat out refuse -- or worse, follow him "secretly". They're not stupid or incompetent, but they are often reckless, and oh so terribly fragile. Better that they come along, so he can keep an eye on them.

Although they're quiet, he can read their emotions well enough in a glance, a tilt of the head, a way of walking. Tender-hearted Rose is worried about him, and feeling sad for all those planets and their inhabitants. The "how" of their annihilation is still a question in her mind, but not a pressing one. To her, almost everything to do with time travel is a marvel bordering on magic.

Jack still looks poleaxed, poor lad. He knows enough about temporal mechanics to have opinions on what is -- and is not -- possible. _Right now, if I told him that asteroids are created by giants playin' skittles, I think he'd believe me._

When they reach the gorge, he resists the temptation to linger, and only glances at the carving on the wall. It's a ghrazi, all right, but he was already sure of that from Rose's description. _The answer isn't here._

Jack's wrist-comp picks up a concentration of life-forms less than a kilometre away.

"I hope it's not another herd of blue cows," Rose teases.

"That was not my fault!" Jack protests. "The magnetic fluctuation was giving me false readings. At least I didn't try to have a conversation with them."

"I was trying to keep an open mind, you git! How was I s'posed to know they weren't intelligent? My first trip in the TARDIS, I got introduced to a _tree_."

He studies the sonic screwdriver, only half-listening to their playful squabble. "These aren't cows, of any colour. Humanoids, an' I'm pickin' up a fair bit of tech. Solar-based, seems like."

Rose squints up at the cloudless sky. "Good spot for it."

"Depending on their equipment, they could generate enough power for a moderate-sized town," Jack says. "Solar conversion arrays are pretty efficient."

_An' it's a passive form of collectin' energy. Not goin' to be detected by anyone who isn't lookin' for it. Good choice if you like privacy._

When he's certain of direction and distance, the Doctor pockets the sonic screwdriver. He doesn't want to be holding something that might be mistaken for a weapon, not when he's approaching people who are suspicious of strangers.

"What's the plan, Doc?"

"Plan? We wander in, nice an' friendly, an' say hullo."

"And then?" Jack prompts him.

"Depends on how long this bunch have been stuck here, and how much they know about what happened."

"How long has it been since the the War ended?" Rose asks.

He shrugs. "Dunno."

Jack, more familiar with temporal grammar, asks, "How long in your personal timeline?"

"Dunno. A couple of years. Maybe three," he amends. _We drifted for a while, after the-- after. Don't think the TARDIS knows. She was tendin' her own wounds, poor girl. Even after we healed, I was off my head for a long time._

"But how long ago compared to the time we're in now?" Rose asks. "And what year is it now?"

"It's 3209 by Earth reckonin', an' I can't answer your first question."

Rose is looking confused -- and frustrated -- at not getting an answer to what must seem like a very simple question. Jack has gone expressionless, as he does when he's concentrating on something complicated.

He tries again. "The active phase of the War lasted 'bout three years in relative time. In absolute time, it was waged over twenty or thirty millennia."

Jack's eyes narrow. "But the timelines must have-"

"Yeah. Like spaghetti. Very badly tangled spaghetti. An' it all kept shifting." _For the worst, mostly._ From Minos IV to Arcadia, it had been an unbroken series of disasters. He takes a deep breath he doesn't really need. "When it was over, the War was timelocked. All of it. No traveling in or out, no changes."

"No Reapers?" Rose asks softly.

He shakes his head. "No Reapers. Part of the price of keepin' them away--" _Aside from the billions of lives lost_, he added silently. "--was that the planets that ceased to exist, never were, an' never can be again."

"Then how come Jack's heard about Lyonnesse? If it never was?"

"Some civilisations were so influential that they left shadow memories. Echoes in time, you might say." He shrugs. "Sorry. Can't explain it better than that."

Rose scowls at him. "What you really mean is we wouldn't understand, 'cos we're only stupid humans."

"You are _not_ stupid, Rose Tyler, and neither is Jack. I don't travel with stupid people."

"But we _are_ humans," she retorts.

"Humans are fantastic! You've got creativity and imagination." He nods at Jack. "You lot developed the technology for time travel, even without any time-sense. It's like lobsters inventing aeroplanes!"

The corner of Jack's mouth twitches. "Thanks... I think." The twitch becomes a grin, and Rose is chuckling when a round shape comes arcing over one of the large flat-iron rocks.

One part of the Doctor's mind observes that the projectile is about the size of a cricket ball, and the weathered red colour of a Venetian tile roof. Even as he notes its trajectory and speed, he's grabbing his companions' hands, and dragging them backwards as quickly as he can. Neither of them resist -- Jack was already in motion -- but the rough terrain slows them down. They're only two metres away when the projectile strikes the stony ground. There's no explosion, only a dull _clink_ as the hollow clay ball shatters into a hundred shards and splinters.

The Doctor has just enough time to notice two small puddles within the remnants of the ball: one, dull grey and viscous; the other, red and frothy. The instant the two fluids touch, a billow of dense pink smoke appears, and rapidly expands to surround them like a giant cloud of candy-floss. It seems almost comical, but he instinctively switches to respiratory bypass. The humans don't have that option. Jack bends over, retching violently, and Rose covers her mouth with her hands, nearly dropping to her knees but for the Doctor's iron grip on her upper arms.

It's not until the noxious smoke begins to disperse that the Doctor see the fourteen aliens standing in a loose circle around himself and his ill companions. Each one is holding a thick wooden staff, capped at each end with a piece of bronze that looks very much like a clenched fist.

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to the kind members of the LJ comm DW_Britglish for suggests of varieties of alcohol for Rose's disastrous experiment.

She hasn't felt this sick since that horrible party when she was fourteen, and she got plastered on cider, Lambrini, and WKD Blue. Her gut is churning, her eyes are on fire, and her legs have turned to jelly. If it weren't for the Doctor's strong hands, she'd be flat on her face. Beside her, Jack is doubled over, hands on knees, breathing in short gasps like he's trying hard not to puke. The Doctor seems okay. She can't see him -- can't see much -- but his hands are steady, and he's not making sick-up noises. _I s'pose this stuff doesn't work on Time Lords.  
_  
The cloud thins, and though her head's pounding, she can stand without help. Jack, upright now, pulls her into the gap between himself and the Doctor. Rose doesn't resist, but she turns around so they stand in a rough triangle, facing outwards towards the circle of aliens. _Wonder if I can get hold of one of those sticks?_ Most of her combat training has been hand-to-hand. The only weapons form that Jack's been allowed to teach her is Denebian stave dancing. She's good at it (for a non-Denebian), but even if she had a stave right now, she's still as weak as a half-drowned kitten.

"Why is the other male unaffected?" one of the aliens demands. "He appears to be of the same species."

"It should work on any oxygen-breather," another snaps.

"That is of no account." She can tell, just from his voice, that this one is the leader. "He will not resist or flee while the others are incapacitated."

The Doctor growls, "'He' will do a lot more than resist if they don't get better, an' quick. You must have an antidote -- use it!"

"Unnecessary. They are recovering already. You will come with us. The Elders are waiting."

The A'atrans don't bother with ropes or handcuffs. They just herd their prisoners around the flat-iron rock, and down a gently sloping gully. It's slow going, because Rose and Jack are still weak. Rose is leaning on the Doctor's arm, but she's walking on her own two legs. Jack, stumbling beside her, insists that he's fine. She holds out a shaking hand to him, and he takes it, and if they happen to steady each other on the rough terrain, there's no need to mention it.

Because of their slow pace, she has time to look around. Their escorts are wearing what might be uniforms: tunics and trousers made of a reddish-brown fabric that blends in with the rocks. They're all different in style, and not just because they aren't mass-produced. One tunic has long, tight-fitting sleeves and a neckline cut in a 'V'. Another has a stand-up collar that looks like something from an old Beatles poster. Some of the fabric is woven in a way that gives it a rippled texture. _Never been on a planet where the police cared about fashion._

At the bottom, the gully opens onto a circular dry basin 100 metres wide. It's almost completely enclosed by near-vertical cliffs, most of them taller than the London Eye. Squiggly horizontal lines on the cliff faces mark the layers. Like a giant stack of pancakes. They're mostly shades of red, with some greys and dark browns mixed in. Irregular mounds of rocks, at least three metres high, are clustered at the base. _Must've broken off the cliff and fallen._

The mounds flow into one another in a series of graceful, irregular curves. Rose is reminded of the frozen waves of Woman Wept, or the wind-etched deserts of Meloria VI. Maybe the sun-glare is affecting her eyes, or her head is still fuzzy from the gas, but it takes her a few minutes to process what she's seeing: the rock mounds are buildings, with doorways.

"Don't see _that_ very often," Jack murmurs, and she wonders what's so special about stone buildings, even if they look like sculptures. Then she notices that his head is tilted up. A flash of movement catches her attention. Some of the dark spots on the cliff walls are openings, and people are looking out of them.

Caves! "How'd they get up there?"

Jack is opening his mouth to answer, but one of the guards turns to glare at him, raising his stick in warning. Jack gives their captor a quick, saucy grin, but remains silent. Rose squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back. On her right, she feels the Doctor stiffen slightly, but he also keeps his mouth shut. She follows their lead. Save the questions until they meet these Elders.

 

*****

_'Elder' mus' be a courtesy title._ There aren't any youngsters in the group of A'atrans awaiting them, but most are far from elderly. Six males and five females sit on the curved bench that hugs the back wall of the interior of the largest stone building. Like the guards, they are wearing hand-sewn garments that manage to be both practical and elegant, but in a variety of colours. Each Elder has a long rectangle of intricately-decorated fabric draped around his or her neck.

He isn't much of a fashion plate in this incarnation, though he still admires artistry. Right now, it isn't the beauty of the brocade stoles that draws his attention. They're all very old, and were obviously cut from the same piece of fabric. Eskar whisper-silk is incredibly rare, almost as rare as the intricate patterns embellishing the stoles.

"Outsiders." The speaker is a woman who seems to be the senior member of the group. "I am Elder Dathiha. You are guilty of trespass on our lands."

"Start with the verdict? That how you do things here?" He forces himself to keep his tone casual. The recollection of Rose and Jack, doubled over in pain and nausea... _They're all right. No lastin' harm done._ He's still got to find out about these people, and help them if he can, but on his own terms. Protecting his humans comes first.

Jack shakes his head. "These are busy people, Doctor. They don't have time for little details like justice."

_Good lad!_ The A'atrans of Lyonnesse prided themselves on the fairness and honesty of their government. If these people hold the same values, Jack's words will sting like nettles.

"You _are_ guilty of trespass," Dathiha repeats coldly. "What remains to be seen is whether you are guilty of other offences."

"Offences? Blimey, you've got some nerve! You dosed us with poison gas. All we did is offer help -- or didn't Merron and Kiy bother to mention--" Rose's outburst is cut short by a series of dry coughs.

_Right. Enough of this nonsense._ He raises his voice enough to be heard over the indignant buzz of conversation.  


>   
> "Music echoes from the splashing fountain,  
> A rainbow glimmer veils the waterfall's mist,  
> Silver fish dart through the clear, placid shallows:  
> All of these things are lovely; more lovely yet  
> Is cold water given to a thirsty guest."  
> 

  
He's not sure who's more startled: the A'atrans or the humans, because they're all gawping at him. His companions aren't used to hearing him recite poetry, but it's the A'atrans that he wants to shake out of their complacency. His gaze sweeps across the row of Elders before returning to fix on Dathiha. "Did you forget the words of Shabo, after so many years? Or have you lot decided that they don't apply this far from the Mountains of Hlau?"

 

*****

 

_Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, Doctor. Five lines of poetry, and you got their attention as well as I could with a stun grenade._ Jack studies the eleven Elders on their stone bench. They're all frozen into speechlessness. More than a few have pale faces and dilated pupils. _Maybe_ better _than a stun grenade..._

Elder Dathiha blinks, and makes a hand gesture. A guard comes forward with a tray holding three cups made of moss-green porcelain. Jack takes one, and looks at the Doctor for his cue. Some cultures spill a few drops as an offering to their gods, or recite a ritual greeting before drinking. For all he knows, the plan is to shock the locals further by smashing the cups on the mosaic tile floor.

The Doctor drains his cup in one gulp, and Jack does the same. Rose takes a few cautious sips, pausing once to cough, then drinks the rest of her water.

Chairs appear, and Jack sinks into his gratefully. He could run if he had to -- he could do a lot of things if he had to -- but a little recovery time is welcome. "Thank you," he says to the young man who refills his cup.

"Hospitality is one of the Five Shining Virtues, Jack. 'S good to know that it hasn't been _completely_ abandoned." The Doctor is pointedly not looking at the Elders.

"What are the other four?" Rose asks, right on cue.

"Knowledge, creating beauty, respect for the land..." The Doctor pauses, titling his head to one side. "...and justice."

One of the male Elders inhales sharply. "Who are you?"

_My turn_. "Captain Jack Harness. And my friends Rose Tyler and the Doctor. Just 'the Doctor' -- he's sort of a minimalist."

"Where are you from?" another demands.

He shrugs. "No fixed address."

"We travel a lot," Rose adds helpfully.

"The real question," the Doctor says, "is where you lot are from. One of the colony worlds? Or Lyonnesse itself?"

Elder Dathiha begins to stand, then sinks back onto the bench. "You know of Lyonnesse?" she whispers.

"Been there a time or two, me. Visited the Sceptre City, the Garden of Eleven Joys, and the Palace." The silence in the chamber is absolute. "Saw some beautiful stuff there." He gestures at the brocade stoles. "All of those bits used to be part of the Heir's Cloak of Summer Splendour. What happened to the Prince who wore it?"

A female Elder rises. She is the youngest of the group -- perhaps mid-forties in human terms. "I am Sojore. Prince Zathek was my fosterling. I tended him from the eleventh day of his life -- his Naming Day -- until the day of his death. He died in my arms--" Sojore has to take several breaths before she can continue. "He died of old age."

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

He does not want to listen to this story. What he was expecting to hear is bad enough. If the Prince died of old age, there are only a couple of possibilities, none of them pleasant. He _definitely_ does not want to listen to this story. "Tell me what happened."

Sojore raises her head. She's looking in his direction, though he's not sure if she actually sees him.

"The Queen sent for me after moons-set, in the middle of second dark. She told me that war was drawing close to Lyonnesse. I didn't understand. There was peace with all of our neighbours in the sector, our defences were strong -- but she said that there was danger. The Prince must be taken to safety. A small ship might escape unseen if the enemies were distracted."

"Enemies?" he asks, more sharply than he intended.

"I asked if the Rutans had returned. They passed through the home system ninety years ago, and by Havru's blessing, they did not linger. I thought perhaps they had come again, and the Sontarans followed."

It was a reasonable guess. The Rutans and the Sontarans were two of the most violent species in the cosmos. Many worlds had been destroyed simply because they fell in the path of these warring empires.

"My Lady said, 'We are not so fortunate.' And she laughed, as if it were a strange jest."

_She was tellin' the truth, your Queen. The Time War made the Sontaran-Rutan wars look like schoolyard brawls._

Sojore continues her tale, explaining how Prince Zathek was smuggled from his chambers to a spaceyard at the other end of the continent. The _Celestial Endeavour_, a long-range exploration vessel, had been hastily converted to a personnel transport, and renamed _Arrow of Hope_. It carried the Prince and three hundred A'atrans away from their homeworld. Among them were servitors and guards, but also priests and artisans, scientists and poets.

"Bit like Noah's ark," Rose murmurs.

"Government in exile," Jack whispers in reply.

The Arrow's destination was a planet 15 kilo-parsecs away, a long-established colony of Lyonnesse. They had barely reached interlunar space, between the orbits of Enikun and Olekun, when thousands of ships appeared on their scanners.

The configurations and power signatures of the two alien fleets resembled nothing the A'atrans had seen before. Space seemed to blur around them in impossible ways. Massive, erratic pulses of energy came from all directions, like a storm-wracked sea with shifting winds.

The Doctor can see it all clearly. He was in another galaxy when the Battle of Lyonnesse was fought, but he can envision the planet and its two moons. Converging strings of equations stream through his mind, describing the distortions of space-time that assaulted the _Arrow of Hope_.

The pilot diverted as much power as he could spare to the shields. He guided the ship towards the inner face of Olekun, the larger moon, hoping that its mass would help protect them from the strange weaponry. The _Arrow of Hope_ was buffeted by forces that no normal ship was designed to withstand. The Captain ordered everyone except essential ship's crew to secure themselves in crash-webbing.

Sojore had been in the port forward galley, preparing a cup of calmroot tea for the Prince. "He wasn't afraid for himself, but he didn't want to leave the Queen. He said he was ten, and would be invested as Heir at the next high festival, and his duty was to protect his Lady Mother. The Guard-Commander told him that his duty was to obey his Queen. _I_ told him -- may Havru forgive me for it -- that he was being a silly boy."

There was no time for her to return to the aft cabin where the Prince would have already been strapped down by the Guard-Commander. Sojore made her way to the nearest crash-station -- in the corridor just outside the galley -- and secured herself. She began to pray, repeating the Five Invocations over and over again. Not until muscle spasms flared through her hands did she notice how tightly they gripped the webbing.

Two powerful blows slammed into the _Arrow_. Even within the webbing, the turbulence shook Sojore violently. Shabo's poem about storms hovered on the edge of her memory, but she could not recall the words. An alarm sounded, and lights went out. The only sources of light were the emergency glow-disks attached to the walls at regular intervals. A few minutes later, the lights flickered on, and the alarm ceased.

The ship seemed so quiet. Though people shouted and booted feet pounded the decks, no more energy pulses struck the _Arrow_. Sojore unfastened her webbing with trembling hands and ran aft. She was nearly to her destination when she was stopped by a cluster of guards and ship's crew. "Lady Sojore, it may not be safe," one of them said.

Looking beyond them, she saw that the metal of the walls and deck were oddly discoloured. "Nowhere is safe," she said, pushing through the men.

She must have walked past several dead bodies before reaching the Prince's quarters, but she saw nothing. Inside the cabin, the body of the Guard-Commander was slumped at the foot of the bed. The look of him would have frozen her bones, if she did not have to face a greater horror.

The body of Prince Zathek lay on his bed, still restrained by the crash-webbing. He had aged. He still had the stature and proportions of a child, but his flesh was withered, his cheeks sunken, his eyes dulled. "Soji? Are you here?" He spoke in a hoarse whisper.

She knelt beside him. "I'm here, sweetling."

"Soji... I'm cold."

Sojore unfastened the webbing, and clasped Zathek's frail body against hers. "It's all right," she said, marvelling how easily the lie came to her tongue. "Just rest, sweetling. You'll feel better in the morning."

As Sojore describes the Prince's deterioration, the Doctor can feel Rose's horrified reaction run through him like a live current. _Oh, Rose... I never wanted you to know about all this ugliness an' destruction._ He wants to comfort her, but doesn't think she'd welcome his touch right now. _So much blood on my hands. You shouldn't be dirtied with it._

Rose reaches for the Doctor's hand, holding it with one of her hands and stroking it with the other. Jack, sitting on the other side of Rose, stretches his arm across her shoulders, and gently presses the flat of his palm against the nape of the Time Lord's neck. The Doctor knows he doesn't deserve the comfort that his partners are silently providing, but he doesn't have the strength to refuse it.

Sojore continues her tale, speaking in a low monotone. Her eyes are fixed on nightmares that only she can see, but the Doctor can imagine only too well.

She held her Prince as the long hours passed. When his breathing became more laboured, she permitted a medic to fetch a respiration mask, but insisted on applying it herself. At intervals she paused to moisten his dry lips and mouth with a soothing spray. She murmured words of comfort and favourite old stories. She reminisced aloud about special occasions and everyday pleasures. "Do you remember when we visited the Garden of Eleven Joys? And the kori-birds were perched in the trees?"

Prince Zathek nodded. Even that slight movement seemed to require great effort. "Soji, sing? Moons... bird..."

She sang, though her voice was raspy, and kept wavering off key.

"Both the moons have set, and still you cannot sleep.  
Music rides the breeze that though the window sweeps.  
It is a kori-bird, perched high on a tree.  
Kori, does your song bring me sorrow or joy?  
Or is it just a dream for my precious boy?"

She sang all five verses, then sang them again. At the end, she could hear that his breathing was calm and even. She sang another song and another. Sleep songs, riddle songs, sea songs, love songs -- everything her tired mind could remember. Halfway through "Drafa's Journey" Zathek let out a long, wavering sigh. He took a few more faltering breaths, then lay still in Sojore's arms.

Sojore kissed his leathery cheek, then laid him back down on the bed. She turned his limp. unresisting form onto his left side, as was proper, and gently pulled his knees up towards his chest. This final service completed, Sojore sat, unspeaking and dry-eyed, beside her Prince.

After an hour, perhaps two, of this silent vigil, she allowed a serving-woman and a medic to lead her away. As they escorted her to her quarters, she overheard snatches of conversation. Sixty other A'atrans had been found dead in the aft section of the _Arrow_. Lyonesse was gone -- not merely destroyed, but gone. No trace remained of her, or of her two moons. The other, uninhabited planets of the system were still there, though in different orbits.

Rumour and speculation ran unchecked throughout the ship. It was the Sontarans who annihilated Lyonnesse. It was the Rutans. It was the Miasini. It was some unknown extra-galactic race. The destruction had been caused by their own military, testing a fearsome new weapon. No, it was an experimental planetary shield with an unstable energy source.

The _Arrow_ had taken almost no physical damage during the attack, but the bombardment of energy waves had damaged navigational controls, and wiped parts of the databanks. It took four days for the scientists on board to isolate and analyse the readings they'd taken.

The Captain himself made the announcement, just after firstmeal. As the Queen had feared, Lyonnesse had been caught in a clash between the Daleks and the Time Lords. The weaponry of one side or the other had somehow distorted the very structure of time and space.

It did much more than that, the Doctor knows. _Not that you lot could understand what really happened. Takes an 'advanced' race to properly muck up the Universe._ He also doubts that the A'atrans could appreciate the irony of their fate: the very forces that obliterated their planet had also saved their lives. Two or more energy pulses had intersected in just the right way to form a sort of temporal breakwater. Even so, parts of the ship had been only partly protected, admitting the entropic waveform that aged the young Prince and immediately killed his older compatriots.

_Sixty dead_, the Doctor muses bitterly. _Jus' a few drops in the sea_. A few more innocent victims among the billions claimed by the Time War.

One week after Prince Zathek's death, the _Arrow of Hope_ limped into a small spaceport on a mining planet. The miners -- dull-witted Musteloids from Skerk -- did not seem to comprehend who their visitors were, but they traded stores of fuel and other essentials in exchange for luxury goods. They also gave permission for funeral pyres to be built on a rocky plateau five kilometres from the spaceport.

Sojore watched the twisting flames claim the bodies of the dead, releasing their spirits to journey onwards. Only when the pyres were reduced to embers did her tears finally flow. With them came the words of the poem that had been eluding her.

"Upon the Jade Sea, the winter gale tossed  
The heaving, foam-crowned waves into great mountains.  
You were torn from my arms by the jealous sea.  
You will lie in her cold embrace forever  
While I keen my grief into the mocking wind."

 

*****

Sojore falls silent, her eyes bright with remembered tears. An Elder who identifies himself as Priyan takes up the tale. "We set course to Ysande -- the nearest of our colony worlds. As we entered orbit, there were no responses to our comm signals. Scans showed no energy signatures, no sentient life. We searched for ruins, for signs of destruction, whether by war or natural disaster. Nothing. There had been two large cities and many small settlements, and we could not find the slightest trace of them -- not so much as one plexibrick."

_'Course you didn't find anythin'. Lyonnesse was wiped from the timelines. It never existed, so it never settled any colonies._

The _Arrow of Hope_ traveled on to Gezin, a world that had a long history of trade and diplomatic agreements with Lyonnesse. The Gezinoi space control authorities did not recognise their signals, but finally allowed the _Arrow_ to land as an 'unknown vessel in distress'.

"We told them of our misfortunes... and they laughed. We must be mad, they said, or else we were rogues and tricksters. Lyonnesse was not real, only a fable told to children. A few gullible fools had formed expeditions to search for the riches of Lyonnesse, but none succeeded. We told them of the battle, of the Time Lords and the Daleks, and they laughed all the more. More legends, they said. Gods and monsters battling to control the cosmos -- not even drunkards in taverns believed in the Time War."

Everywhere they journeyed, it was the same. Lyonnesse was a myth, a falsehood, a delusion. They could not travel endlessly, but where to settle? Many worlds would have welcomed their science and artistry. They need only lie about their origin. "We had lost so much," Priyan says. "To surrender our name was too great a sacrifice."

_So they came here, as far from other worlds as they could get. Do they think of this place as a new Lyonnesse, or jus' a memorial for the planet they lost?_

"Now you know our tale," Elder Dathiha says, looking sharply at the three travellers, "and we desire to hear yours. Where are you from, Outsiders? How do you remember lost Lyonnesse, when all the worlds have forgotten her, except as a half-dreamed tale?"

What can he do but tell the truth? He'll offer whatever aid he can, whether it's repairs, provisions, or organising transport to another, less harsh planet. What does it matter if they hate him? He's the source of their troubles, or near enough as to make no difference. _'S long as they don't blame Rose an' Jack_... "Thing is, I'm a Time--"

"--Agent," Rose blurts out. "We're Time Agents."

 

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

"We're Time Agents."

Jack smiles. _Clever girl._ "_Former_ Time Agents," he says smoothly. "The Doctor and I had a little... disagreement with the Agency recently. We didn't part on the best of terms."

"And you?" Elder Dathiha asks, looking pointedly at Rose. In the split second before she answers, Jack can see her consider the lie, evaluate it, and opt for the simpler truth.

"Not me. I jus' travel with Cap'n Jack an' the Doctor."

"Rose is from a primitive era of Earth's history," the Doctor says. "Barely post-atomic."

_Uh oh. Doc doesn't sound happy. He's pissed off because Rose interrupted his 'confession'._

Rose isn't happy either, judging from her glare. "Oi! Enough with the 'primitive'. Who figured out how to disable that Retherian war computer?"

Jack suppresses a chuckle. _Not the best example, Rose. You poured your dewberry smoothie over the control panel. By accident._ "Primitive, but resourceful," he says.

And now he's the focus of attention. "Captain? You are the leader?"

He knows if he says yes, the others will play along, but even for him, the truth is the easiest lie. "'Captain' is my former rank. The Doctor has more experience in time-travelling than I do. Our ship belongs to him, actually."

"I borrowed it," the Doctor says blandly. "I was in a bit of a hurry, an' needed transport."

Jack blinks, and makes a mental note to ask about that at a more convenient time.

"This is how you know of Lyonnesse?"

"Like I said before, I've been to Lyonnesse," the Doctor replies. "An' our trainin' gives us a certain resistance to changed timelines."

"And you have come here to aid us?" It's a challenge.

"Actually, we came to get some clorinthium for our ship's filtration system," Jack says, flashing his most charming smile. "We had no idea that anyone else was on the planet until Rose had her... encounter."

"But we do want to help if we can," Rose adds.

"Why?" Dathiha asks bluntly, and the faces of the other ten Elders reflect her scepticism.

"'Cos it's the decent thing to do." She frowns at the Elders. "Doesn't mean we're happy about those stink bombs, but I s'pose you've got reasons to be suspicious of strangers. Yeah, we want to help."

"For a price." Jack lowers his voice and leans forward slightly, as if sharing a secret. "Rose has a sentimental streak. It's one of the things we love about her, but sentiment doesn't pay for fuel and docking fees."

Rose gives him A Look, but there's a flicker of amusement in it that tells him she understands. The A'atrans won't believe they're acting out of pure altruism, and he sure as hell isn't going to explain the Doctor's misplaced guilt. Greed is a universally understood motive.

He needs to strike the right balance. Interested in profit, but not rapacious. Really, there's not much difference between striking a bargain and running a con. "I think we could arrange a mutually agreeable trade. Your artisans do beautiful work. I have contacts who would pay very well. Some textiles, perhaps a few carvings--" He glances at the five intricately-wrought ghrazi flowers spaced evenly around the room. "Nothing that's sacred or otherwise off-limits, of course."

"What makes you think we need help from anyone?"

"You cannibalised your ship," the Doctor says. "Means no off-world shopping trips. Solar conversion arrays are efficient, but they won't run forever. Activation cells start degradin' after ten to twelve years. You lot have been here at least fourteen." He ticks off seven other technical problems that they can't deal with on their own.

Jack already knows about two of those. He could guess two more. The remaining three are problems he wouldn't have suspected until he pulled off the access panels. He doesn't see how the Doctor can possibly know about them, but he'd lay odds that the Time Lord is right.

The A'atran Elders murmur among themselves. He doesn't need to hear what they're saying. He can read their reactions on their faces. Some are in favour; some against; most are undecided.

"We will confer about your... offer," Dathiha announces. "You will be escorted to a place where you can await our decision." She gives the Doctor a hard look. "If you do not cause trouble, you will have no cause to fault our hospitality."

The Doctor inclines his head. "The rewards of a welcoming door are: bounty upon the table, safety within the walls, peace beneath the roof, comfort at the hearth, and a good name for eleven generations," he says calmly. It's obviously an old proverb. Jack's heard something similar on dozens of planets. Why does it sound like a threat?

The Elders don't reply, and the Doctor rises without further comment. Jack and Rose do the same. This time, there are only two guards: one leading the way, and one bringing up the rear. They exit the circular building, heading for the nearby cliff-face.

There are at least twenty doorways along the base of the cliff. Some lead to passageways or chambers, and some to cylinders that seem to be lift shafts. The doorway they enter becomes a two-metre-long corridor, ending in a spiral staircase. It's not the utilitarian metal latticework that Jack knows from space stations and prefab habitats. This stairway was carved into the heart of the cliff with laser drills wielded as precisely as surgical instruments.

They go single-file, though the stairway is wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side comfortably. A shallow groove with a smoothly rounded edge is etched into the wall at just the right height to serve as a handrail. Glow discs attached to the ceiling cast strong, warm light on the steps. They also reflect off the glossy, polished walls, highlighting the horizontal streaks of other colours -- black, grey, cream, and white -- that run through the red stone like the grain in wood.

_It's like time-travelling_, Jack thinks. _That grey stripe, no wider than my thumb, took thousands of years to form. The whole thing, from base to top, represents millions of years._ He wonders if Rose can see the science behind the beauty. He wonders if the Doctor can see the beauty behind the science.

They ascend 24.5 metres, according to Jack's wrist-comp. At the top, the landing curves gently to the left, widening into a large oval chamber. No door to lock them in: good. No doorway to hide behind for an ambush: bad. The wall on the left is pierced by many small elliptical windows, looking out onto the flat basin they crossed earlier. _Was it only a couple of hours ago? Feels like a couple of days._

Food and drink will be fetched for them, one of the guards announces. A few minutes later, another uniformed A'atran enters, carrying a tray, which he places on a low table. "You are welcome under this roof. Take refreshment, and be at ease. Remain here until summoned, or we will use a paralytic cloud." He says this in one long breath, as if the last sentence is part of the ritual greeting. _Maybe it is... now._

All the guards file out of the room, and Jack can hear the muffled sound of their boots on the stairway. He consults his wrist-comp. "They're all down. Two posted at the entrance."

The sonic screwdriver whirs. "No listenin' devices. No toxins in the food -- an' it's safe for humans." The Doctor looks pointedly at the tray, then at his companions. "I don't want you two keelin' over at the worst possible moment. Sit down, have somethin' to eat. An' then you can tell me what the bloody hell you think you were doin' with all that claptrap about Time Agents."

 

*****

Rose didn't expect him to be grateful, but she'd hoped he would be reasonable. "We thought we were keeping a pig-headed moron with cotton-wool for brains out of unnecessary trouble," she says sweetly.

"A Time Agent? _Me_?"

She and Jack exchange looks. The Doctor's Time Lord dignity is bruised.

Jack clucks his tongue. "A Time Agent. Shocking."

"Scandalous," she agrees. "Next thing you know, he'll be associating with humans and all kinds of riffraff."

"Oi! Don't be puttin' words in my mouth, Rose Tyler. An' sit down. You're not recovered yet."

"I'm okay, Doctor." She looks at Jack. An understanding passes between them.

"We both are." The two humans position themselves on either side of their partner. They link arms with him, and pull him down as they seat themselves. He doesn't resist.

The stone bench jutting out from the right-hand wall of the room is covered with thick cushions of something that feels like soft leather. It's certainly one of the more comfortable places that they've been imprisoned.

"Doctor... were you there?" Jack asks. His voice is low and serious -- unusual for him, even in crisis situations.

The Doctor shakes his head. "I was in the Triangulum Galaxy, dealing with another incursion. There were so many-- I didn't hear about Lyonnesse until later."

Rose takes in a deep breath. _God, please don't let me muck this up._ "Doctor, do you want to help these people?"

"Said so, didn't I?"

"It'll be easier if-- if they don't ask too many questions." She stumbles on. "Easier for them, I mean. Seems they've started to put the War behind them. They still remember what happened -- course they do -- but they don't think about it all the time." _Except maybe Sojore, 'cos losing the Prince hurt her so much._

The Doctor's looking at her like she's a puzzle he needs to solve. "Jus' how do you figure that?"

"You said one of their 'shining virtues' was creating beauty. There's lots of beautiful stuff here, even the little, unimportant things. Prob'ly their dustbins are beautiful, too."

Jack laughs. "And filled with beautiful trash, I'll bet."

"But it's different here than how you described Lyonnesse. You said that was a green place, with lots of gardens and fountains, an' white shining buildings. If all they thought about was the past, wouldn't they be trying to copy it?"

"She's got a good point, Doctor. The art here is designed for this world. The materials, the styles -- they're all made to harmonise with the landscape."

"Like... that." She jabs a finger at the window wall facing them. There are dozens of small oval windows scattered randomly across the wall. At least, she _thought_ they were random. All at once, she can see that the oval windows are leaf-shaped, and very lightly carved lines on the stone wall suggest a tree trunk, with many branches and twigs. She can even tell what sort of tree it's meant to be -- one of the short ones that grow beside the stream she walked along.

"That's planetary west," Jack observes.

It takes a few seconds for her to understand. Come sunset, that lovely tree with its pale sky-blue "leaves" will be painted all sorts of colours. "So, in a few hours--"

"Three point six two standard hours," the Doctor says.

"--it'll be gorgeous."

"I like looking at gorgeous things as well as the next man," Jack says, giving his partners an exaggerated leer, "but I'm hoping we won't still be waiting then."

The Doctor gives a soft grunt which could have six different meanings -- or none at all.

"Rose has a good point, though. These people, they're not trying to live in the past. They're making something new, using pieces of their past."

"Like the cloak." Both men look at her questioningly. "The Prince's special cloak. They didn't put it in a museum or a shrine. They cut it up to share it, jus' like they're sharing the government. Did they have Elders back on Lyonnesse?"

"Nah. King or Queen, an' a sort of three-part parliament."

"They're moving on, Doctor. They're healing," Jack says.

The Doctor looks at each of them in turn through narrowed eyes. "You two gonna stop natterin' an' have somethin' to eat?" He gestures at the tray on the small table in front of them.

Rose knows it's as much of an acknowledgement as they're going to get. She points to some pale green slices that look like cucumber. "What's this?"

"Thorn-fruit," Jack replies. "It grows on a lot of arid worlds. Sort of an edible cactus."

"It's good," the Doctor adds. "Tastes like pear."

She leans forward and helps herself to a slice. It's sweet and moist. Sticky nectar clings to the tips of her fingers. She puts one finger into her mouth, purses her lips around it, and slowly pulls it out again. She repeats the procedure for two more fingers, then her thumb. "Very good."

"Delicious," Jack says. He isn't looking at the table.

"Jack..." The Doctor's tone is a mix of warning and fond exasperation, but Rose can see that his eyes are darkening.

She picks up another slice of fruit, and presses it against the Doctor's mouth, which opens to accept the morsel. He smiles his thanks, lips moist with juice. Rose reaches for another piece, intending to offer it to Jack.

Jack swivels suddenly, pressing his mouth against the Doctor's in a hard, demanding kiss. His hands cup the back of the Doctor's head, as if to prevent him from moving away. The Time Lord offers no resistance. His own hands grab at Jack's shoulders, pulling the younger man closer.

Rose watches them. She's motionless, almost holding her breath. The tip of her tongue sweeps across her upper lip, cleaning off the last traces of juice. _Yeah. Delicious is the right word..._

 

tbc


	7. Chapter 7

Jack's lips taste of thorn-fruit, salt, adrenaline, and desire. As always, the warmth of the human skin comes as a momentary surprise. _Their bodies burn hotter 'cos their lives burn faster_, he thinks, then pushes the thought away. He narrows his focus to this tiny sliver of time and space.

Without interrupting his exploration of Jack's mouth, he extends his left hand to brush against Rose's cheek. His fingers skim over the jawline, down to the side of the neck, where the carotid pulse tells him what he already knows: her heart is beating faster. Rose leans into him and nuzzles against his shoulder.

Humans _need_ touch; it's coded into their genes. Medical studies have recorded the deaths of otherwise healthy human infants who withered away because they were denied physical contact.

Time Lords do not. If they ever had such a primitive need, it was excised from their triple-stranded DNA eons ago. He has always been too fond of the physical senses -- the "animal senses", as his elders called them. Touch was the crudest of all. To enjoy it was weak and self-indulgent. To share it with lesser species was unseemly.

His people would have been scandalised if they'd known how often he'd held a companion's hand to comfort her in an alien dungeon or a monster's lair. They would have been horrified if they'd known that sometimes he took comfort from it, too. _An' this? They'd have all sorts o' words for it, startin' with "abnormal"_. In the back of his mind he laughs. He is now the archetype of his species. Whatever he does is "normal" for a Time Lord.

Without haste, he pulls back slightly, ending the kiss. He exchanges a glance with Jack; wordlessly, they agree on the next movement in the dance. Rose, still leaning against the Doctor's chest, turns her head just as Jack leans forward to capture her mouth with his.

The Doctor can't move without dislodging Rose and Jack, but that isn't a problem. He enjoys watching his partners, especially when they're so close that he can hear the interweaving rhythms of breath and blood. Jack's eyes have gone unfocused, the pupils dilated. He takes Jack's earlobe between his teeth, biting down as hard as he can without breaking skin. Jack shivers.

A pink flush is spreading across Rose's cheeks. He lets his left hand trail slowly downwards, pausing to rest in the hollow of her throat. Further down, then sweeping across. She stiffens, holds her breath -- and makes a soft moan of frustration when his fingers detour around the expected target.

Humans have so little control over their basic bodily responses. Only to be expected of a young, undisciplined race, and it makes them such fun to play with. He waits until he hears Rose's heart rate slowing. It will be best if he can catch her by surp-- _Rassilon! _ Jack should not know about that pressure point. No human should. And what he's doing to it ought to be illegal. He turns his head and glares at Jack. Tyrants have trembled beneath that glare; armies have fled from it; hardened criminals have dropped to their knees and begged for mercy.

Jack chuckles. "Gotcha."

Rose aims her own glare at the Captain. "You've got bloody awful timing, Jack. Did you have to interrupt him?"

"Sorry, Rose. Just couldn't resist."

"Don't think you've got away with that," the Doctor warns. "'I have plans for you, my lad."

"Can I watch?" Rose demands.

He gives her an amused look. "You can help."

"But not right now," Jack says quickly, looking at his wrist-comp.

The Doctor is about to say, "Pull the other one," when he hears two sets of soft-booted feet climbing the stairs.

Rose doesn't have Jack's technology or the Time Lord's hearing, but she knows how to read her blokes. "Company's coming? Damn." She finger-combs her hair and tugs at her rumpled shirt.

 

*****

Bloody hell! She feels hotter than a bonfire, and now she's got to act all calm and cool in front of the A'atrans. She can't really blame Jack. It's her own stupid fault for teasing the blokes. Shouldn't have started, but the Doctor was hurting -- and trying to pretend he wasn't -- and she acted on impulse.

On the plus side, the Doctor is looking better. He's even got a hint of a smug, cat-in-cream smile.

"Only two of them," Jack says. "That's good news."

It is, yeah. Rose has become an expert on this subject. If there was ever a pub quiz on "alien arrest and detention procedures", she'd walk away with the jackpot. Two guards means the A'atrans aren't expecting trouble. _Unless they've got more of that gas... _

But when the guards enter, their hands are empty. No dangerous clay balls, no metal-tipped staves. "The Elders request the favour of your presence," one of them says, bowing slightly.

It must be some kind of standard greeting, because the Doctor bows in return and replies, "My ears rejoice in your words." Rose has to hold in a laugh. She's got this sudden image of the Doctor's large ears detaching themselves from his head and flapping around the room like a pair of demented butterflies.

The guards lead the way out of the chamber and down the stairs. The Doctor walks behind them, followed by Rose and Jack. As they descend, she has a perfect view of the back of the Doctor's head -- and his ears. She clamps her lips shut, but her shoulders shake. A warm hand caresses the nape of her neck. Jack must think she's nervous -- or feeling sick again. She take a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, then turns to give him a reassuring smile.

They're taken to the same round building as before. The Elders sit on the same curved stone bench; the offworlders are guided to the same three chairs. The A'atrans seem more relaxed than before, and Elder Dathiha is almost friendly. "Have you rested? Have you eaten?"

Probably there's some traditional, flowery answer to that. Still, no reason to make the Doctor do all the talking. "Yes, thanks ever so."

"We enjoyed the thorn-fruit," Jack adds smoothly.

_Jack Harkness, if you make me lose it in front of these people, I swear you're gonna sleep alone and cold for a month. _ She bites her lower lip.

The Doctor rolls his eyes in the way that generally means _Humans! _ "Have you got an answer for us?"

Elder Dathiha launches into a long speech that has as many bits of poetry in it as a Christmas pudding has raisins. The Doctor replies with some of the same, but not as long-winded. Then it's time for the bargaining. They haven't planned it. No need, really. The Doctor haggles like an old horse-trader when he wants to, and Jack could probably sell pickled eggs to a Slitheen.

Rose's job varies, depending on the planet and the situation: distraction, silent observer, asker of inconvenient questions. This time around, she has to swing the deal in the A'atrans' favour without making them suspicious. Remembering Jack's earlier crack about her "sentimental streak", she pretends to wheedle her partners. They pretend to be persuaded, and the Doctor grumbles about the cut in profit coming out of her share.

When the last formal words seal the agreement, Jack looks at the Doctor. "Will they have all the equipment we need?"

"Not likely. We'll need to get tools from the--" The Doctor's hesitation is so brief that Rose hardly notices it. "--ship."

She understands. _Bad idea to say "TARDIS" around people who know something about Time Lords. _ "Have we got enough time before dark?"

"One point four seven hours," the Doctor says immediately.

"One of you must remain here," Elder Priyan insists.

Rose shifts in her seat. _I s'pose it should be me. The blokes know where all the tools and thingummies are stored. _

"Jack will stay," the Doctor announces.

She feels a bit relieved, which makes her feel guilty, which makes her feel annoyed. _There he goes again, making decisions for me. Blimey! I'm not a child. _

Jack smiles at no one in particular. "Get a move on, you two. And no dawdling."

"I don't dawdle."

"Yeah? On Delos II, who stopped to sightsee with a pack of Yeth Hounds on his heels?"

_Too right. Good job I had that spray bottle of perfume with me, or we'd have been Yeth kibble. _

But the Doctor just looks at Jack and gives him Annoying Smile #17: You-must-be-thinking-of-someone-else, and leads Rose out of the council chamber.

*****

He's the logical choice to stay behind. The only choice, really. The Doctor needs to go to the TARDIS to fetch the tools, and there's no way they're gonna leave Rose alone with a bunch of paranoid aliens who use poison gas on trespassers. No frigging way. He'd been about to speak up when the Doctor said his name. So why is he feeling pissed off?

Because the Doctor made it an order? Jack's been a soldier. He knows how to give orders and how to take them. _You don't start a debating society in the middle of a firefight. _ If the Doctor shouts "duck!", Jack doesn't play Twenty Questions; he hits the ground. If Rose shouts "freeze!", he freezes. (And stays frozen while the venomous, metre-long Tree Scorpion scuttles into the underbrush.) It's not about rank or authority -- it's about trusting someone else's judgement when there isn't time to stop and talk things over.

Trust. _That's_ what's causing the twinge in his gut. No split-second decision was needed here, but the Doctor had snapped out an order all the same. _As if he couldn't trust me to do the right thing. _

He takes a long, slow breath. _Not the time or place, Jack. Not the time and definitely not the place. Getting distracted in the middle of a group of enemies can be hazardous to your health. _ Maybe it's a bit of a stretch to label the A'atrans enemies, but for damn sure he's not going to call them friends.

_Time to get back to work. _ He looks around. The Elders have risen from their bench, and are drifting towards the door in twos and threes. Bits of quiet conversation waft across the chamber. "...change the work roster... burweed with a copper mordant... teach him patience... but Shabo wrote, 'The young are as hasty as a mountain stream...'"

Jack has already picked four possible marks and three lines of patter. It's a habit, just like carrying his compact laser deluxe, and knowing where all the exits are. He makes a choice, and approaches slowly, keeping his hands at his sides. The guards at the door are watching his every move. _I don't want to make them twitchy. _

"Excuse me, Elder. I have a question..." Jack allows a touch of uncertainty to show in his voice and his smile. He's calculated the most likely reactions, from friendliness to suspicion to cold disdain, and has a response ready for each. What he sees in the Elder's dark eyes is completely unexpected: fear. Cold, paralysing fear.

 

_tbc_


	8. Chapter 8

Jack steps backwards. Slowly. "I'm sorry," he says, as if to a skittish animal. "I didn't mean to startle you." Sojore is staring in his direction, but he isn't sure if she's seeing him. He recognises that distant, haunted expression. He's seen it on the faces of former soldiers, liberated slaves, and survivors of catastrophes. He's seen it on the Doctor's face, and knows that he sometimes wears it himself.

"I'm sorry," he repeats. For several long moments he doesn't move, doesn't breathe. He watches her, but avoids direct eye contact. Too many species regard that as a challenge or a threat. _For gods' sake, Jack, how dumb can you be? You heard her story. Should've known that she might be damaged, not just a soft touch._

Sojore blinks, then makes a hand gesture -- palms up, fingertips touching. "It is I who should ask pardon. My thoughts were elsewhere. What is your question?"

He keeps his voice low and even. "While I'm waiting for my friends, and there's still light, I hoped someone could show me around your settlement. What I've seen so far has been beautiful."

Sojore hesitates. He understands her dilemma. Right now, he's a hostage, a guarantee that Rose and the Doctor will return -- and return alone, not with a few dozen mercenaries. In her place, that's what he would suspect.

On the other hand, they've just become trading partners. Judging from the formal language that the Doctor used while sealing the deal, these people take verbal contracts very seriously. They can't treat him like a max-security convict without losing face.

Sojore exchanges glances with some of the other Elders. "I am sure that a suitable escort can be arranged."

That's fine. He didn't expect to wander around with just a tour guide. Guards won't interfere with his plans. He doesn't intend escape, theft, or sabotage -- just some casual gathering of information.

There's murmuring amongst the Elders. One of the males -- Priyan, if Jack remembers correctly -- steps forward. "My elder son can serve as guide. I will send for him."

The son arrives quickly. He's an adult, though still young. Havrukiy is not thrilled with his assignment, but he manages a cool politeness, even after they leave the Council Chamber and his father's watchful eyes. They're an odd quartet: Havrukiy in his multicoloured finery; Jack, his t-shirt and trousers stained with red dust; and the two guards trailing a discreet five paces behind them.

They head north along the cliff-face. Havrukiy shows him hydroponic greenhouses, protein cultivators, and communal spaces for eating, for study, and for music. The word has spread quickly, as it tends to do in small communities. No one is surprised to see Jack, though many of the A'atrans fall silent when he enters a room.

The afternoon sunlight is deep gold tinged with copper by the time they enter the weavers' studio. The wide looms are an odd mixture of technology and handicraft. They are mechanically powered, but the patterns are manually controlled by a complicated set of levers and dials. The weavers' hands flick over the controls, with the quick precision of a surgeon or a pilot.

The humming and clacking of the looms is just loud enough to cover the sound of their footsteps. One stout male shuts off power to his loom and bends over, peering closely at his work. He uses a thin metal hook to coax a thick green strand between two rows of shimmering blue threads. A rough sketch of his design is stuck to the upper cross-beam of the loom. When he glances up to consult it, he notices the visitors.

"There you are!" He hurries across the workshop. "I have been waiting for you to come by," he scolds.

Havrukiy looks abashed. "Forgive me. My father asked me to escort the visitor." There's a short pause before the final word.

"Jack Harkness," the visitor says, guessing that his guide doesn't remember his name.

The weaver inclines his head. "Sha'albin." He's much older than Havrukiy, probably older than his father. His crest of white hair is long by A'atran standards. It would hang past his shoulders, if it were not twisted into a complex braid.

"Master Sha'albin," Havrukiy corrects. "He is the greatest weaver amongst us." He ignores the silencing gesture that Sha'albin makes. "He restored most of the patterns that were lost on the Journey, including the Double Jade Sea." He gestures at the elder man's tunic. Plain green, Jack would have said earlier, but now that he's closer, and standing in the sunlight, he can see a million subtle shades of green twisting through the fabric in curves and lines that hint at waves and currents.

Sha'albin said to Jack, as if confiding a secret, "Children grow up and learn that their parents are neither perfect nor all-wise, but apprentices -- Havru bless them! -- never do." He studies Jack with the same careful concentration that he had given to his work-in-progress. "You are not the one who has seen Lyonnesse."

"No, sir." Jack's not sure where that 'sir' came from, but it feels right. "That would be the Doctor."

"I hope I may have a chance to speak with him. Perhaps-- no matter. Old men ramble like a tangled thread. Have you any questions?"

Jack asks a few, genuinely interested, then allows Havrukiy to lead him towards the door. Just before they exit, the Weaving Master calls out, "Kiy! Come back tomorrow. I need your opinion of the new mordants." Havrukiy waves assent.

Once outside, Jack asks casually, "Kiy?"

"My short-name. It is for friends and kin only."

Jack nods, suppressing a fierce grin. "So it was you and your brother that Rose met."

"Merron, yes."

"He's a very talented sculptor," Jack says truthfully.

"He will be a Master one day. He needs the study, and the discipline, but the gift is in him."

"He chose an interesting subject for his current project."

"I don't know what you mean."

_You're a very bad liar._ "You were there. You saw the ghrazi. Sacred flower, right? A boy who isn't even an apprentice yet shouldn't be attempting it." Two beats. "What does your father think of it? And the other Elders?"

In an instant, Havrukiy's cool civility turns to something hotter. "You will not speak of this, Outsider. Not to anyone."

Jack shrugs. "No reason why I should. Unless..."

It takes Havrukiy a moment to catch on, and when he does, his first reaction is confusion. "What do you want?"

Jack smiles encouragingly. "Why don't we sit down and have a chat?"

 

*****

 

Two guards follow them at a distance, then drop back as soon as they cross whatever invisible line marks the edge of the A'atran settlement. The Doctor is silent, which suits her fine, because she's got a lot to think about. She's worried about both of her blokes. Worried about the Doctor because she knows he's still fretting about Lyonnesse and the Time War. That little bit of playtime cheered him up a bit, but it didn't really change anything.

Then there's Jack. He's safe -- 'course he's safe -- but it doesn't feel right, leaving him behind. "You shouldn't have told Jack to stay there," she blurts out.

The Doctor gives her one of those 'stupid ape' looks. "Somebody had to stay. Wasn't gonna be you, an' I'm the only one who knows where to find the right tools."

Bloody hell, she's got to spell it out for him. "He would have volunteered."

"'Course he would have done," the Doctor says, frowning. "Jack's a good lad, an' a clever one."

"Yeah, but you didn't give him a chance to say anything. 'S like you didn't trust him."

The Doctor rolls his eyes. "Not in the habit of sharin' a bed with someone I don't trust, me."

_Is it a Time Lord thing or a bloke thing? Prob'ly both._ She doesn't push it any further. Maybe later, when all three of them are back in the TARDIS and off this world.

 

*****

 

By the time they arrive at the TARDIS, Rose has given up on nagging him about Jack. He can't really blame Rose. Her kindness and her belief in fairness are among the qualities that first made him love her. Thing is, he really doesn't want to talk about Jack. He knows he went overboard, ordering the man to stay behind as a hostage. He knows that Jack would have volunteered. But one truth was weighing heavily on his hearts: it should have been him staying behind, because the whole bloody mess is his fault. He should have stayed, but he _couldn't_ stay; and in his shame and frustration, he flung a command at someone who deserved better.

Once inside, he heads towards workroom four. Rose is off to get some female essentials, and to take what she promises will be the fastest shower in the history of the TARDIS. He doubts that's true. Rose loves to soak and steam and pamper herself. Even if she hurries, he seriously doubts that she can break Adric's record. The boy always treated showering like an unpleasant chore, and used his considerable intelligence to figure out the fastest, most efficient method to get through the daily ordeal.

Rose doesn't have Adric's speed (or motivation), but she is quick enough. By the time the Doctor arrives in the Console Room with his armload of tools, Rose is there, dressed in clean clothing, her pale hair damp and faintly scented with strawberries. He'd like to bury his nose in her sweet-smelling hair, then strip off the fresh clothes, the better to stroke and kiss and taste the pink and ivory skin beneath them. He could have her naked very quickly; into a bedroom very quickly; but everything after that would have to be very slow and leisurely indeed. "Off we go, then," he says briskly. "No time for shilly-shallying, Rose."

They head downstream at a quick pace. As soon as they are out of sight of the TARDIS, Rose frowns. "Bugger! I left my mobile in the bedroom." She looks apologetically at the Doctor.

"Go ahead. Be quick -- sun's close to settin', an' I can't hold it back." (He can, actually, but sees no reason to tell Rose. The amount of power it would drain from the TARDIS -- not to mention himself -- would only be worth it in the most dire emergency.)

Rose sprints away. While she remains in sight, he admires the view. If he can't have that softly rounded bum bare and wriggling against him, the next best thing is to watch it in motion. He has only a minute to appreciate Rose's bum -- and the rest of her lovely body -- before she disappears around a corner.

He can't see her, but he can hear her clearly. "What are you lot doing here? Oi! Put that knife away!" And then the only thing he can hear is the pounding of his hearts as he runs full tilt towards the TARDIS.

_tbc_


	9. Chapter 9

When Jack tires of pacing the small room, he throws himself down on one of the narrow beds and stares at the patterns of the grates covering the ventilation shafts in the high ceiling. Although he's tired, he's in no danger of drifting off. Even if he felt safe in this place that is not-quite-hostile-territory, he's not feeling calm enough for sleep. His emotions are bouncing like ions in a collider. Satisfaction at what he's accomplished. Annoyance at the Doctor. Worry for his partners. _Dammit, where are they?_ He knows exactly how far away the TARDIS is. _How long can it take to gather up a few tools?_

_Maybe Rose wanted to change into clean clothing?_ He rejects that thought almost before it forms. In other circumstances he could believe that Rose paused to shower, wash her hair, try on three different outfits, and paint her toenails. _But not now._ Not with him waiting. And if she somehow got distracted, the Doctor would remind her.

_What if someone followed them back to the TARDIS?_ He trusts the Council -- mostly -- but that doesn't guarantee that some hothead won't take action on his own. The nausea gas that disabled them earlier isn't the only nasty item in the A'atrans bag of chemical tricks; that's one bit of information he picked up during his tour.

He glares at the closed door. It isn't locked. He knows, because he quietly tested it as soon as his escort walked away. Not that it matters. He isn't a prisoner; he's a hostage, and what holds him in here is something far stronger than any lock or bolt or chain.

In one fluid motion he sits up and hurls his pillow with deadly accuracy at the door. "Oh, Gods!" He doesn't know if it's a curse or prayer. With a groan, he jumps to his feet and resumes pacing.

*****

The short distance back to the TARDIS feels like a million light-years, and the Doctor ages at least a century before he sees Rose. She's standing, hands on hips, staring down a group of a dozen A'atrans. They're young -- adolescents, judging from the length of their hair. Their expressions range from frightened to embarrassed to sullen. The gangly boy standing closest to the TARDIS is holding a short knife at his side.

"Drop it!" The boy obeys instantly. _No surprise there_, the Doctor thinks, because he knows the Oncoming Storm is echoing in his voice, and the Destroyer of Worlds is probably blazing in his eyes. It's overkill for dealing with one scrawny youth, but he doesn't give a damn. "You all right?" he demands of Rose.

"Yeah. 'M fine. He--" She jabs an accusing finger into the air. "--was trying to stick his knife into the TARDIS."

He sucks in a quick breath and struggles for control. _They're both okay. He didn't hurt Rose, an' he couldn't hurt the TARDIS. _ He reaches out with his mind and finds only the sleepy hum of a TARDIS that is (relatively) motionless in time and space. Then he turns his attention -- his _full_ attention -- to the boy. "What the hell were you doin'?"

The boy is pale, but he looks directly at the Doctor. "I'm a carver. I wanted to know what it's made of. It looks like wood, but it doesn't feel like it. It broke my knife," he adds with a sudden flare of indignation.

The thin-bladed knife lying in the dust is missing its tip. "That's what happens when you muck about with other people's things," he tells the would-be vandal. "Count yourself lucky that it's only your knife that's broken." His gaze sweeps over the entire group. "An' why were you lot here in the first place?"

After many glances back and forth, a girl in yellow steps forward. "We were looking for your ship, but we couldn't find it. Only this thing."

_Oi! That's no way to talk about the best ship in the Universe!_ "This 'thing'--"

"--is where we store our tools," Rose finishes smoothly. "More convenient to keep them near the place we're digging. Why were you looking for our ship?"

"We've never seen an Outsider space ship before."

"We've never seen _any_ space ship before," a boy in mossy green corrects. "We're all Haveners."

"All what?" the Doctor asks.

"Haveners. The Journeyers named this planet Haven, and since we were all born here--"

"Except Vannarik," the girl adds. "He's a Journeyer, because he wasn't born on Haven."

Judging from his glare, Vannarik is the boy with the knife. "I _am_ a Havener. For Havru's sake, Danachen -- I was only five days old when the ship landed."

It seems to be an old argument. "But you were born on the ship, so that makes you a Journeyer," Danachen retorts.

"Journeyers remember Lyonnesse," Vannarik says. "I don't. I don't even remember the ship, so I can't be a Journeyer."

"He's an honorary Havener, Dani," says the boy in green.

"What happened to the ship you came in?" Rose asks.

"The _Arrow of Hope_ was stripped for parts and metal after the landing. There isn't much of her left," Vannarik says.

"There's a model of her in the learning centre," adds a girl whose short hair identifies her as the youngest of the group, "but we wanted to see a real ship."

Then the questions come flying from all directions. Where _is_ their ship? What kind of energy source does it use? How many crew members are on board? What planet do they come from?

"Our ship is none of your business," he growls, "so don't be stickin' your noses where they don't belong." This hushes them for a moment.

Rose wrinkles her forehead in concentration. "Your parents don't want anything to do with ali-- Outsiders, but what about the Journeyers who're just a bit older than you? The ones who were little kids when they left Lyonnesse?"

"There aren't any," Danichen says, shaking her head at Rose's ignorance.

He jumps in. "Why not?"

Several of the Haveners reply at once, and he shushes them with a look. "You first," he commands the boy in the green tunic, who turns out to be Kurden, younger brother of the reckless Vannarik.

The youngsters tell him what they know, which doesn't amount to much. Other than the Prince, only adult A'atrans had boarded the _Arrow of Hope_. They were the elite of Lyonnesse in all fields: scientists, statesmen, artisans, warriors, and poets. He thinks about what they don't say, perhaps don't know.

He looks at Rose, and he can see that she is having similar troubling thoughts. "Right. Time we were goin'. The Council's waitin' for us, an' so is Jack." He points the sonic screwdriver at the TARDIS. The shrill buzz and the light have all of the young Haveners staring at him with avid curiosity. "I've activated the anti-intruder systems," he says to Rose, but loudly enough that everyone can hear him. "Anyone tries gettin' in... zap!" He holds one hand upright, then quickly bends it parallel to the ground, miming sudden collapse. "Now, scat!" An excited murmur runs through the group of A'atrans, and they head upstream, though with many backward glances at the blue box and the two Outsiders.

Rose walks briskly beside him on the path to the settlement. "Anti-intruder systems? Since when have we got those? And what if someone who didn't hear the warning--"

He smiles at her worried expression. "'S all right. It'll jus' give them a mild jolt. Not much worse than static electricity."

Rose nods. She's doesn't speak until they're out of sight of the TARDIS. "Doctor, they left their families behind. How could they do that?"

"The Queen wanted to make sure that the best of their civilisation survived," he says. "You heard what the Elders said. Only room for three hundred people in the ship."

"But some of them must've been married, maybe had kids," she protests.

"Yeah." _Probably_ most _of them did._

"Maybe they figured they could go back when the danger was over?"

"Maybe so," he agrees. It's possible, but he doesn't think they were that naive. "War forces people into hard decisions." _Impossible decisions._

"I know," she says, carefully not looking at him.

He know she's being kind, and careful not to pressure him. He ought to say something casual to reassure her that he's okay, because he is, but nothing seems to come out. He speaks five million languages; you'd think he could find something to say in one of them. She slips her hand into his. _Words are overrated._

They go the rest of the way in silence.

*****

Two guards meet them at the border and escort them to a different stairway than the one they used before. This one is at the far end of the cliffs, and takes them up three stories. The featureless white door opens into a featureless white chamber, unlike any other she's seen in the settlement. The stone walls curve gracefully up to a high ceiling. They've been coated with some sort of plaster, only it's got shiny bits like mother-of-pearl in it. The furniture -- not that there's much of it -- is white and sleek, like some of the ultramodern stuff at Ikea. A small, utilitarian mirror hangs on the back wall.

Jack is standing in the middle of the room, face wary and focused, body poised to move. When he sees them, he lets out a loud breath, and some of the stiffness flows out of him. Rose hurries forward and pulls him into a hug. The Doctor wraps his long arms around both of them.

When they detach from one another, Jack's hands vanish into his pockets. "You two take the scenic route back?" The tone is polite -- too polite.

"Stopped for a chat, actually," the Doctor replies. He's examining the room with more attention than it deserves. "Not up to their usual standards."

"I think it's a medical isolation room. They don't seem to have any visitor quarters here."

The Doctor snorts. "Big surprise, that."

Rose gnaws on her lower lip. What is it about the male of the species -- any species -- that makes them so bloody impossible? _Silly prats!_ "Jack, on the way back from the TARDIS, we met some of the local kids--"

The Doctor raises one hand, gesturing for her to wait. He pulls out the sonic screwdriver, scanning the room. Jack moves silently to the door and cracks it open, checking for eavesdroppers. Satisfied, the two men gesture for her to continue.

When she finished summarizing what they learned, Jack is frowning. "If those kids have dreams of visiting other worlds, they're going to be seriously disappointed."

"We know their parents cannibalised the ship for parts--" the Doctor begins.

"Not just for parts -- or metal," Jack interjects. "They deliberately turned it into scrap so that it could never fly again." He looks back and forth at his partners. "We were wrong about these people. They haven't moved on. They've moved back into the past."

Rose stares at him, certain that she isn't going to like what he has to say. "But there's the art and... stuff."

"Turns out, suiting the art to the locale is just an aesthetic decision. And they had to change the form of government -- the Prince was the only member of their royal family on board the ship. A council of elders is something out of their ancient history, before they adopted a monarch."

"Jus' how did you find this out, Captain?"

Jack smiles. "I got the ha'penny tour of this place. And my guide just happened to be an old friend of yours, Rose."

"An old-- you mean Merron?"

"Nope. His big brother, Havru_kiy_." Jack stresses the last syllable.

"Blimey, I'll bet he loved doing that." She remembers how he'd pronounced 'Outsider', as if it had been something nasty-tasting in his mouth.

"He was polite. Mostly. And very cooperative, once I mentioned Merron's little art project. Seems that it's a really big no-no for a kid who isn't an apprentice to be copying sacred symbols. And since their dad's on the Council, it would be a major embarrassment for this to come out."

The Doctor raises a brow. "You blackmailed him?"

"We reached an understanding."

For a moment, Rose can almost see the Time Lord thinking, then he grins. "Good on you, Jack. Well done."

Praise from the Doctor normally makes Jack happy, but he only nods in acknowledgment. "Bottom line is, most of the older generation, the Journeyers, have become very reactionary. They don't want anything to do with the Outside -- meaning the rest of the Universe -- and they definitely don't want their children going out there."

"And the kids are just mad to see other worlds." Rose sighs. "P'raps they're the ones we ought to be helping, Doctor."

"Could do..." the Doctor muses aloud. "'Could organise a transport ship."

"You mean, take them away from here? Away from their parents?" Rose suddenly remembers Jackie's face, that time that she'd come home after twelve months away. _She was hurting so much... I couldn't do that to someone else's mum or dad._

"Course not," the Doctor says, looking offended. "Jus' give them the means to get off-world. An' not 'til they're older."

"You might have to wait until the Journeyers have died off," Jack warns, "because I think they'd fight tooth and nail to prevent that."

The Doctor shrugs. "Can come back in ten years, see which way the wind blows. If the time isn't right, pop back into the TARDIS, an' go forward a few more years. Easy enough."

"But what if--" _Click_. Rose looks up in time to see a shadow flicker _behind_ the mirror on the back wall..

"What the--?" Jack reaches instinctively for the pocket where his blaster is normally kept, and curses when he realises that he had to leave it behind.

"Hidden observation window," the Doctor says grimly. "This is a medical isolation room. In case of something contagious, they'd want a way to check on the patient without getting too close."

"Someone's been listening to us." _But for how long?_ Rose tries to remember everything they said since she and the Doctor came into the room. Had they mentioned Time Lords or the War? She didn't think so, but still...

Jack looks at the mirror, then at each of his partners in turn, and sums up the situation in two words. "Oh, shit."

_tbc_


	10. Chapter 10

"Bugger," the Doctor says to no one in particular. "Jus' what we needed. Something else to feed their paranoia."

"We don't know who it was or how much they heard," Rose replies. "Could've been one of the kids -- or someone else who's curious about the visiting aliens."

The Doctor does not seem cheered by this suggestion. "Thought you checked the room over, Jack."

He glares at the Doctor. "I thought you did a thorough scan."

"For listenin' devices, yeah. Why didn't you use that toy of yours to check for bio-signs?"

"Maybe you should have reminded me of that earlier, since you're the genius Time Lord and I'm just the incompetent human."

"Don't you go puttin' words in my mouth, Captain. If you--"

"You made it pretty damn obvious that you don't trust me to do anything right, Doctor."

"Jack!" Rose protests. She wants to insist that it isn't true, can't be true, except this isn't about truth. It's about feelings, and she can't tell Jack that his feelings are wrong. Besides, she's got two stubborn gits here. _ Maybe it's best to let them have it out._

"If you think I don't trust you, Captain, you're stupider than I thought." And there it is, hidden under the insult: guilt, and anger -- at himself, not Jack. Rose wonders if Jack can see it. Probably not. He's too wound up in his own feelings. "Am gettin' a bit tired of the whingin', though."

"Yeah, I really feel the trust when you tell me exactly what to do," Jack says. "I know you're fond of the sound of your own voice, but I don't think that's the only reason."

"Sometimes, there's somethin' more important than your delicate feelings, Jack. Like keepin' Rose safe."

Rose is about to tell them to leave her out of it. Then she sees Jack's face, and she can hardly think, let alone speak. She always thinks of the Doctor as 'the scary one'. Not all the time, of course, but he can summon up a look that makes the most fearsome monster want to be on the other side of the galaxy.

Jack is... well, Jack is dangerous, of course. She's seen him in too many fights and confrontations to think otherwise. But even during those times he usually has a smile on his face and a joke on his lips. Not now. No smile, no joke, and those usually-twinkling eyes are colder and harder than she could ever imagine. He is scary, very scary, and she wonders why she never noticed before now.

"You don't have to tell me that it's important to protect Rose," Jack says, and every word is sharp enough to draw blood. "I would die to keep Rose safe. I thought I'd proven that to you, Doctor -- or didn't that count, since I didn't actually die?"

_God, no! Jack, don't say that -- don't think that. _ She knows what he's talking about. The three of them had been trapped on an alien ship, badly damaged and flooded with gases poisonous to humans. With only enough time to rescue one of his companions, the Doctor had chosen Rose. Jack had known what choice the Doctor would make. Known... and approved. He had managed to find his own way to safety, but it had been a very near thing.

_I thought we were past that._ They had talked for many tear-filled hours, in pairs and all three together. It had taken a lot for her to let go of the guilt and the anger she'd felt.

She looks at the Doctor and very nearly gasps. He looks...gutted, as though Jack's words had torn into him. "You really think that, Jack? That I don't trust you?"

"What am I supposed to think, Doctor? 'Jack will stay'," he quotes with bitter sarcasm.

"I didn't want Rose--" the Doctor begins.

"I know that!" Jack snaps in reply. "I didn't want her to stay here alone either."

The Doctor just looks at him, showing more confusion than he usually permits his companions to see.

Rose huddles on one of the bed, clasping her knees. She's been hoping that a dust-up would give her men a chance to clear the air. Get rid of the anger and the misunderstandings. Instead, it seems to be getting worse. They're dragging her into it. She wants to jump up, tell them not to use her as an excuse to quarrel, but that will only accomplish the opposite. With a lot of effort she stays put and stays quiet. _They've got to work this out by themselves._

A mocking voice in the back of her head asks, _"What if they don't work it out?"_ She pushes the question away. She won't think about that. She can't.

"I would have volunteered to stay," Jack says flatly. "If you'd waited just five seconds, I'd have said so. What I wanted from you was trust--trust that I would have done the right thing without you giving me an order." He shrugs. "But, hey--now I know where I really stand."

The Doctor winces. "Jack, I--"

Jack holds up a hand. "Don't bother, okay? You're not very good at excuses, and I don't want to hear any."

"I'm rubbish at excuses," the Doctor says bleakly. "Even worse at apologies. Don't blame you for not wantin' to listen to me. Hope you will, though."

Jack's gaze is still cold and hard. "Why should I?"

The Doctor shakes his head. "Dunno," he says very quietly. "You want me to beg, Jack? 'Cos I will do if I have to."

Rose Tyler holds her breath. There's something clutching at her heart, and she's not sure if it's hope or terror.

*****

Jack Harkness has never claimed to be a nice person. Rose and the Doctor have taught him that he can be a _good_ person. Sometimes. If he tries hard. Charming? Sure. Suave, clever, sexy... but not nice.

He's been pissed off at the Doctor many times. Hard not to feel that way, living with a man who's the dictionary definition of smug, arrogant and condescending. And because Jack is Not a Nice Person, he has to admit that he's fantasised about a moment like this: the all-knowing Time Lord apologising. Begging his forgiveness. "I don't think you know how," he says coldly.

The Doctor looks at him. For a moment the Time Lord's face is shuttered again, and then he nods to himself. "Please," he says in a voice rough with emotion. "Please, Jack."

Something changes ever so slightly in the Doctor's posture: tension in one set of muscles, relaxation in another, a shift in his center of gravity. Most people wouldn't notice these signs, let alone know how to read them. Kinesthetic analysis was one of Jack's best subjects at the Time Academy. It's saved his life more than once, being able to predict an adversary's next move. Right now, that finely honed skill is telling Jack something impossible: the Doctor is preparing to kneel.

He's seen the Doctor on his knees before. The last time was in the court of the mad Trehinor Oligarch, where the Doctor had looked more like a crouching panther than a docile prisoner. He's seen the Doctor kneeling in front of him during sex. That was not submission either -- more like getting into the correct position to take control.

The body language now is completely different. The shoulders sag; the head prepares to bow. _This is wrong._ Jack can't explain it, even to himself, but he knows that if the Doctor kneels, things will change between them, and not in a good way. _I thought it would feel better than this._

"Don't," he orders. The Time Lord blinks but remains standing.

Jack is still seriously pissed off at the Doctor. "All right," he snaps. "Speak your piece. I'll listen--I just can't promise that it'll make any difference."

The Doctor hesitates, then nods. "Fair enough. More'n I deserve. You're partly right," he says slowly. "It's a matter of trust. Only--it's myself I don't trust."

This makes no sense. The Doctor has a freighter-load of flaws, but lack of confidence has never been one of them...has it?

"This planet is drivin' me barkin'," the Time Lord continues. "These people... it's difficult. They're not the enemy, but they haven't got any reason to love us."

_And it won't be all sunshine and roses if they find out who you are, Doctor._

"I've got to help them--owe 'em that much--but they're dangerous to you and Rose. It's a bloody mess. So, when they said they wanted a hostage..." The Doctor shrugs. "Wanted to stay behind meself, but you wouldn't have known where to find a lot of the gear. It _couldn't_ be Rose," he says again.

Rose has been unusually silent throughout this conversation. A sound of protest escapes her mouth, and the Doctor waves it off. "Rose, just shut it, will you? That gas of theirs hit you a lot harder than Jack." He turns back towards Jack. "The way they were goin' on, I was afraid I'd lose it. Blow up. Wouldn't have done much good for anybody, so I decided it was best to get out of there soonest. Said you'd stay."

He smiles that crooked grin, the quirky, bitter-sweet one that bypasses all of Jack's defenses and goes straight to his heart. "Knew you'd think the same; didn't s'pose it mattered which of us said the words." Long pause. "Didn't think how it might look to you. Should've done. Genius, me, 'cept when I'm an idiot." It's amazing how soft those steel-coloured eyes can become. He grins again, and this one is the killing shot. "Travelled with a lot of people in my life. Trusted them enough to let them into my TARDIS. Only a few I trusted enough to let into my hearts. 'M sorry, Jack."

Jack feels like he's been hit by a small asteroid. _He trusts me. I knew he loved me, but..._ He's never been quite sure what 'love' means to a Time Lord. Love is a tricky concept, more slippery than fifth-dimensional calculus. Before he met Rose and the Doctor, Jack loved lots of people without completely trusting them. Maybe. Truth is, he's not sure what 'love' means to him, either.

 

His anger doesn't go away, but through some kind of emotional alchemy that must be related to nuclear fission, it turns into lust.

"Not a bad apology, especially for someone with so little experience," he says, trying to sound unimpressed and knowing that he's failing miserably. "Maybe if you throw in a bit of groveling..."

A loud snort comes from the other side of the room. Rose is perched on the edge of one of the narrow beds, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "I'd pay good money to see that," she says, trying to sound casual. "Him, learning to grovel? It'd be like Posh and Becks learning to get by on ten quid a week."

Jack throws back his head and laughs. "Don't discourage him, Rose. Who's to say that an old dog--"

"Oi!"

"--can't learn new tricks?"

Rose leans forward, elbows on her thighs. "Never mind that," she says urgently. "You two gonna kiss and make up?"

Jack looks at the Doctor, still standing where he froze during Jack's outburst, three metres away. Everything about him--face, eyes, posture--says 'waiting'. A joke and a smile aren't enough to assure him that he's forgiven. Jack's going to have to make the first move. "Hey. C'mere." He opens his arms and takes a step forward. Suddenly, he's locked in an embrace so tight and fierce it almost hurts, and an insistent tongue is exploring his mouth. He extends the kiss for as long as he can, then pulls away to gasp, "Doc. Puny human, remember? No respiratory bypass...need oxygen."

The pressure eases up enough to let him get in a few deep lungfuls, and then his mouth is invaded again. One arm continues to encircle him. The other pulls Rose's soft warmth against them. Jack hadn't been aware of Rose crossing the room. Without interrupting the kiss he manages to disentangle his left arm and wrap it around Rose's back.

Jack is only human. Despite 51st-century genes and Time Agency enhancements, he's still homo sapiens--just a slightly more advanced ape. He can't see timelines or feel the rotation of the planet beneath his feet. But right now, Jack Harkness has a special sense. He can feel the Universe coming back into balance, and it feels damn good.

*****

Time Lords don't believe in reincarnation, not in the human sense of the word. The Doctor wishes--just for a moment--that he did believe. If he'd lived other lives that he can't recall, that might explain a lot. He's very sure that he hasn't done anything in the nine lifetimes he can remember to explain his current good fortune. They are so utterly _fantastic_, his humans, and he doesn't deserve them in the slightest--but here they are, in his arms. He lets his seven primary senses drink them in: the brightness of Jack's eyes; the taste of his mouth; the softness of Rose's skin; the wonderful scents of sweat and hormones and strawberry shampoo blended with faint traces of thorn-fruit; soft moans and quickening heartbeats; the multi-colour swirl of emotions; the golden glint of not-quite-manifest timelines. _Fantastic_. He'd shout it aloud, proclaim it to the Universe, only his mouth is still very busy.

Distracted as he is, his superior hearing only picks up the sound of footsteps 3.4 seconds before the knock on the door. The three of them disentangle, but stand together.

"Come!"

An A'atran woman enters: youngish, perhaps in her thirties. She manages a graceful bow, despite the large bundle in her arms. "Guests, the Council bids me greet you, and invite you to dine with them this night. I have clothes suitable for the occasion." She sets the bundle on the foot of the nearest bed, unwrapping the outer layer to reveal a pile of richly-coloured fabrics. She makes a few more flowery remarks, then departs, promising that a guide will come for them in half an hour.

 

*****

Rose looks approvingly at her blokes. Whoever chose their clothing has a good eye for colour and style.

Jack is even more gorgeous than usual in a tunic of deep blue that matches his eyes. The waistcoat and trousers are a rich brown embroidered with a spiraling pattern of amber vines and stylised clusters of blue fruit. He tugs at the tunic, adjusting how it drapes. Oh, yes--he knows just how good he looks.

The Doctor is dramatic in maroon with black highlights. No embroidery, no decoration. The artistry is in the cut of the outfit and the sheen of the finely-woven fabric. Instead of a waistcoat, he has a knee-length cloak that swirls around him as he walks. She doubts that he knows how sexy he looks it; she's certain he doesn't care.

Rose herself is frustrated, 'cos the tiny wall mirror hardly shows her anything. Her outfit is a cornflower blue that she knows is a good colour for her. It wraps around her like a sari or a toga, leaving one shoulder bare. The blokes look at her admiringly, but they'd do that if she were wearing a plastic bin-liner, so it doesn't really count.

The promised guide escorts them to a large room where some thirty people are gathered. She recognises enough of the faces to understand that this is a gathering of VIPs: the Council of Elders, their husbands and wives, and a few other muckety-mucks.

The food is delicious, and beautifully arranged. When Rose first sees it, she worries that it will be some weird combination of flavours, like on the posh cooking shows her mum sometimes watches: a tiny portion of organic Cornwall-raised ostrich, drizzled with pomegranate-mustard reduction, and served on a triangular plate that could double as a toboggan. Even though she doesn't recognise most of the food, it all tastes as good as it looks.

People wander back and forth between the five courses and engage in small talk. When the last dishes are cleared away, Elder Dathiha rises and recites what sounds like a flowery grace after meals. That done, she announces, "Tonight, I invite our guests to provide the Sharing of Words."

"What's that?" Jack whispers.

"Poetry recitation," the Doctor whispers back. "It'd be rude to refuse. At best, we'd look uncultured. I suspect some of this lot is hoping we'll fall on our faces."

Jack nods. "Any rules about topic or length?"

The Doctor shrugs. "Don't think so. Beauty, nature, virtues -- somethin' nice." Rose holds her breath when the Doctor shoots Jack a warning glance, but the younger man just nods.

"I will go first, though I don't deserve the honour," Jack says clearly. Every eye in the room is on him. "This is a poem -- a song, actually -- that I learned long ago." He recites what must be the lyrics of a lullaby, something to do with desert breezes and ocean tides and white spires rising above the sand. When he finishes he looks very far away and a little sad.

"Thank you, Captain," the Elder says smoothly. "A most creditable effort."

"Lovely," another voice says. It's Sojore -- the dead Prince's nurse. Just like Jack, she seems to be envisioning scenes of the past.

Dathiha interjects smoothly, "Doctor, will you favour us with something from your world?"

Rose sucks in her breath, but the Doctor merely leans back in his chair. "Not much for poetry, my people," he says easily. "Can offer one from Lyonnesse, if you like."

Elder Dathiha inclines her head.

"Silent the silver fish, beneath river's calm.  
Silent the fisherman, beneath sunlight's balm.  
Swift fingers craft enticements meant to deceive  
Transform bright wool to food a fish will believe."

The Doctor's voice rumbles through ten more verses that elegantly describe how the poet catches, cooks, and eats two 'silver swimmers in the silver stream'.

Elder Sojore frowns. "The style resembles Shabo. But the topic--"

Rose suppresses a giggle. _A fish fry-up? All that fancy language, and it's just a fish fry-up?_

"The topic was one of the mos' pleasant afternoons I can remember," the Doctor says agreeably. "Very fond of fishing, your Shabo was, an' he had a skillful hand with the rod. Not bad for a poet. Though Yeats was a very talented angler, as I recall." He takes a sip of his drink. "Shabo wasn't having much luck that afternoon. The fish didn't seem to fancy his 'many-limbed delvers in the soil'. Told him he ought to try a hand-tied fly. Colour me surprised when he didn't know what that meant! So I pulled a few bits from my scarf--" He looks down, as if expecting to see a scarf around his neck. "--and did him up a nice red-fly." He grins. "Taught that one to old Izaak, I did."

"You went... _fishing_ with Shabo? Shabo of Hlau?"

"Yup. Told you I visited Lyonnesse. Nice bloke. Very hospitable. Wrote me the poem in exchange for the pattern for the fly. I thought sharin' his catch was more'n enough, but he insisted. Very open to learnin' new things, he was."

_That wasn't very smart, Doctor_, Rose thinks. There are murmurings around the room, and more than a few unhappy looks. "I s'pose it's my turn," she says loudly.

The Doctor leans forward to murmur in Rose's ear, "You know, you can give 'em 'Ba Ba Black sheep' if you like, or some rubbishy pop song. Doesn't matter."

"I know a poem," she says indignantly. "Just 'cos I didn't get my O Levels doesn't mean I'm ignorant." She gets to her feet, and forces herself to concentrate. She was lucky in Year 8 to have an English teacher who didn't believe that real poetry ended with Wordsworth.

"Lying, thinking  
Last night  
How to find my soul a home  
Where water is not thirsty  
And bread loaf is not stone  
I came up with one thing  
And I don't believe I'm wrong  
That nobody,  
But nobody  
Can make it out here alone."

To keep up her nerve she avoids looking at the crowd, and concentrates on her blokes. Jack's looking thoughtful -- or maybe still sad. She ploughs on.

"Now if you listen closely  
I'll tell you what I know  
Storm clouds are gathering  
The wind is gonna blow--"

The Doctor's face is very still; his eyes shadowed and distant.

In the last verse she finds her courage growing. She looks directly at one of the Elders as she finishes triumphantly.

"Alone, all alone  
Nobody, but nobody  
Can make it out here alone."

There is a long silence.

"How... interesting," a male in a moss-green tunic observes. "Primitive, of course, but it has a certain crude vigour--"

Rose bites her lower lip. _You want 'crude', you stupid arse? I can come up with some new poems, just for you. What rhymes with 'fathead'?_

Sojore steps forwards, smiling. "Shabo said, 'Words have wings. To catch them, you must be ready.'" She shakes her head at the A'atran in green. "Do not close your ears, Frehrad. Keep them open and catch the words of our guests. If you do so, you will learn much." She bows politely to them, then heads for the door.

The others quickly follow suit. Some pause to thank the offworlders for their 'gifts', with varying degrees of sincerity, but no one wants to stay and chat. That suits Rose very well. She's tired. It's been a long, difficult day. It feels like a million years since the TARDIS dematerialised here.

Their guide leads them back to their assigned room. It's not far, and they could have found their own way, but it's clear that the Council doesn't want their 'guests' wandering unescorted.

When they walk down the corridor leading to their room, they all stare at the white chalk marks on the dark brown door. Half of Rose's brain sees the graceful curves of A'atran script; the other half perceives them as if the words were in English. Rose can't quite keep her voice from shaking as she reads aloud, "Let evil be cast out before it can breed corruption."

_tbc_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The poem Rose recites is _Alone_ by Maya Angelou. The complete text is [here](http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15624).


	11. Chapter 11

The guide didn't follow them up the stairs and into the corridor, so it's just the three of them staring at the beautifully-written letters that spell out an ugly message.  _Let evil be cast out before it can breed corruption_. For one split second, they're all frozen, then the blokes are in motion.  The Doctor is facing the door, screwdriver in hand; Jack is facing the corridor exit, scanning with his wrist thingummy.  Rose is between them, and not by coincidence, she knows.

_They've got 'protect the girl' coded into their DNA or something_.  She'd call it a bloke thing, but she knows plenty of blokes that haven't got it.  Adam had no problem leaving her to save his own skin; Jimmy Stone hurt her when he was plastered.  Whatever it is, these two have got it.  Her own personal knights in shining armour, ready to defend her against... graffiti.

She steps forward, so she's next to the Doctor, looking at the door.  "Nobody inside?  No booby traps?"

He shakes his head, and starts to reach for the doorknob, but her hand on his wrist stops him.  She reaches into her lovely dress and pulls out a crumpled but clean tissue.  She spits on it, getting as big a glob as she can manage, and then she begins to erase the chalk words.  The blokes stare at her.  She ignores them.  She's Rose Tyler from the Powell  Estates, and she knows about graffiti.  Most of the time, you ignore it -- no, you don't even see it.  If it's personal, though, you take action.  You make it go away.  She has to spit a couple more times, but within two minutes, the door is clean.  She nods at the Doctor, and follows him into the room.

The white room looks undisturbed.  Their things are sitting exactly where they left them: tools in the far corner, clothing tossed on the bed nearest the door.  Rose strips down to her knickers, then pulls on her faded t-shirt.  "Who's taking the first watch?"

The blokes exchange wordless messages.  "I will," Jack says.  "I'm wide awake."

"Thought so," Rose replies.  "I need some sleep now.  Long day.  A few hours will be enough, and I can take the second watch."

"You okay, then?" Jack asks casually.

She shrugs.  "Somebody here doesn't like us.  Not exactly big news."  Though she's talking to Jack, she watches the Doctor out of the corner of her eye.  Are those stiff shoulders loosening just a little bit?  "Promise you'll wake me.  Promise you'll get some sleep, too."  When Jack gives her his promise, she stretches out on the narrow bed.  She has only a moment to regret there's no room for company before sleep embraces her.

*****

After Rose's breathing takes on the gentle rhythm of a sleeping human, Jack joins him in leaning against the wall.  "You think there's any real danger?" Jack asks.

He shrugs.  "Maybe, maybe not.  For most people, writin' a nasty message is enough.  Gets the aggression out of their system.  No need for a mauve alert just yet.  Keep watch, be ready for trouble."

Jack sighs and studies the ground.  "I might've made a mistake blackmailing Kiy."

"Prob'ly not. From what you an' Rose told me about him, he could have written that little love note, but he's not the sort to get violent."

Jack's posture says he isn't convinced.  The Doctor pivots so he's facing the younger man, close enough to feel his body heat.  "Jack.  Leave it be.  Was a reasonable risk, makin' him talk to you.  Might've done it myself."  He leans in and plants a light kiss on Jack's lips.  "Stop worryin'."

Jack relaxes slightly.  "I'll try."

"Good lad.  I'm gonna close my eyes, rest.  Don't forget to wake Rose."

"You think I should?"

"I think you'll be in real danger if you don't."  Rose can be fierce about doing her share, and there's no reason she shouldn't take a watch.  "An' you should get some sleep tonight.  Won't be much use to me tomorrow if you're dead on your feet."

He lets himself slip into a _qesh'a_ meditative state.  It's light enough that he can come alert instantly if needs must, but he knows that it looks deeper.  _That's a good thing_.  He's already bungled things badly with Jack; he doesn't want to do anything that will make the lad think he doesn't trust him to keep watch.

The end of the first watch comes, but Jack is still pacing the floor.  The Doctor considers speaking up, then decides against it.  Jack has a decent sense of time for a human.  Two minutes and seventeen seconds later Jack bends over Rose, tapping her lightly on the shoulder.  "Rose?  Rose?  Time for the the second watch."

Rose mutters something that even his superior hearing can't interpret, and her eyes flutter open.  "Wha--?"

"Second watch," Jack repeats patiently.

Rose sits upright.  "'Kay.  'M up."  She stifles a yawn.  "Don't s'pose there's any tea?"

"Sorry."  Jack starts to rummage in his pocket.  "I think I've got some stimtabs..."

"No thanks.  They give me a headache."

That's his cue.  "Rose -- you want to go back to sleep?  Can take two watches, me.  Been restin' while Jack was on guard."

He can see fatigue and responsibility warring on her face.  "Up to you," he says with a careless shrug.  "If you're tired tomorrow, you can nap while Jack and I are fixin' the solar conversion array."

_Bulls-eye!_  Rose frowns.  "If you're sure..."  She makes another token protest, then lies down and is out like a light.

Jack pushes a second bed next to Rose's.  He can't really snuggle -- it's not like a proper double bed, but the nearness allows him to drape a possessive arm across her back.  In less than fifty-three seconds, he's asleep.

The Doctor watches them.  He loves to watch them sleep when he can.  It isn't as easy as one might think.  If he starts off in bed with the humans, it's a challenge to extricate himself after his brief sleep cycle.  Rose clings.  No, that isn't quite correct.  She... intertwines.  The only word that describes it properly is a Gallifreyan verb that refers to the interaction of two or more gravitational fields. Never mind the bloody physics -- he can't get out of bed without waking Rose.

If he enters their shared bedroom when the humans are already asleep, it's usually Jack who reacts.  The Captain, with his survivor's instincts and military training, is a very light sleeper.  He's also got just enough telepathic ability to sense someone watching him.  (Rose, bless her, is as head-blind as most humans from her era.)

He can't explain exactly why he likes watching them like this.  When he thinks of his partners, conjures up the composite memory-selves that live in the back of his mind, they are always in motion: Rose running at his side, laughing and exuberant; Jack, strong and lithe, whether in bed or in a fight.  The stillness of sleep ought to bother him, ought to remind him of the pitiful shortness of their lives.  Perhaps it's that sleep strips them of the masks humans wear, even with lovers.

He snorts quietly.  _You're a fine one to be talkin' about masks, Doctor.  Who have you _ever_ allowed to see all of you?_  No one on Gallifrey, for fear that they would not understand the person beneath the persona; none of his companions, for fear that they _would._

With effort, he pushes away those thoughts, and all the others that crowd around him like black flies.  This oh-so-brief moment is a gift, and he'll be damned if he'll let fear of the future or the weight of the past ruin it for him.  He positions himself for the best view of the joined beds, leans against the wall, and begins to stockpile memories.

*****

Jack is the first to awaken.  No surprise there.  No one will _ever_ mistake Rose Tyler for a morning person.  She's quietly grumpy over breakfast -- fruit and some kind of beverage that looks like tea but tastes like burnt toast -- but her smile slowly returns once they're outside.

This time, it's one of the Elders who guides them.  Estridon was Senior Engineer on the _Arrow of Hope_, and seems to fill a similar function in the settlement.  Jack wonders how the man felt, dismantling the _Arrow _to create planet-based power systems.  Most ship's engineers that he's met would rather build a footstool out of their mother's bones.

If Estridon has any such feelings, he keeps them well-hidden.  He's all business -- polite enough, but not exactly chatty.  "The array is on the caprock," he says, pointing up to the top of a section of cliff at the southern end of the settlement.  It's one of the shorter ones, Jack notes -- only 80 or 90 metres high.

"Don't suppose there's a lift," Rose murmurs, soft enough that only her partners can hear her.

"Even if they bothered to install a lift tube, I doubt they can spare the power to operate it," Jack says.

"When we're finished here," Rose says, "I want a holiday.  Somewhere with a nice beach, yeah?"

The Doctor turns and smiles at her.  "Anywhere you like."

Under other circumstances, Jack knows, the Doctor would suggest that Rose wait down below.  Not now.  He might be all right with it if Jack stayed with her, but that's not going to happen.  No way are the Doctor's partners going to let the Time Lord climb up there without them.

The access stairway to the caprock isn't far.  Two other A'atrans meet them at the entrance, which is behind a locked door.  Estridon introduces them as his apprentices.  Hanorra is a confident-looking woman in her mid-30s, Jack guesses.  Trotting behind her is an adolescent boy in a moss-green tunic.  His eyes are nearly as wide as TARDIS roundels, and he's barely suppressing a grin.

The boy matches Rose's description of one of the Haveners, the settlement-born kids that she and the Doctor met earlier, but he bobs his head and recites the words of formal greeting as if this is the first time he's seen any of the offworlders.

Introductions complete, they divide the tools and repair materials between six large rucksacks. The long trek to the top is conducted mostly in silence.  Jack is in good enough shape that he could climb _and_ talk, but he's not feeling very chatty.  He prefers to save his energy and keep a wary eye on the A'atrans and on his surroundings.

Though this staircase is carved into the rock, just like the one they ascended yesterday to the waiting room, it's much more utilitarian.  The steps are even and level so that no one will stumble on them, and the carved guide-rail is smooth enough not to abrade the skin on his hand, but the walls are rough and unfinished.  The glow discs attached to the walls are bright enough that he can see where he's putting his feet, but he wouldn't want to try to read a tech manual by their light.

The top of the staircase ends in an open hole in the clifftop, and he's glad of the metal railing that encircles it.  The sunshine is dazzling after the relative dimness of the stairs.

He moves just a few paces away, letting his eyes adjust.  Once he can see clearly, he stares.

There's nothing unusual about the technology.  Even engineers from Rose's century could guess the purpose of the large black panels placed in neat rows across the top of the mesa, though the control circuitry would give them headaches.  By Jack's 51st century standards, the solar array is ordinary, somewhat old-fashioned, and badly worn by weather and years of heavy use.

"It's a kluge," he says to the Doctor, now standing beside him, "but gods -- what a magnificent kluge!"

Fully half of the original support racks are gone.  The non-conductive polymer tends to turn brittle after five years.  On an industrialised world, it's cheap and easy to replace.  On this back-of-nowhere planet, they have substituted ceramic racks, hand-sculpted from the local red clay into the shapes of vines and branches.  Straps and bindings are woven from synthsilk in patterns of gold and mocha and rust.  Even up here, where the work will only be seen by birds and the occasional maintenance crew, the A'atrans opt for beauty.

"Pretty," the Doctor agrees, "but pretty won't keep their lights on.  Over here, Jack.  Rose, bring that bag, will you?  Estridon -- how many circuit testers have you got?"

*****

"Not over there, you numpty!  To the left!  The left!"

The Doctor is happier than she's seen him since they landed on this planet.  He's got a problem with a clear-cut solution, jiggery-pokery to keep him busy, and a gang of workers that he can order about like navvies.  The six people who trudged up the stairs this morning have been joined by a dozen more -- and that's not counting the young Haveners who have been running up and down with messages, supplies, tools, and now, lunch.

Most of the Haveners are volunteers who just want an excuse to stare at the aliens; Kurden is ridiculously proud that as an apprentice he gets to assist the Doctor and Jack.  In his case, "assist" means holding tools until they're needed.  That's enough for him to lord it over the other Haveners, who are mere gofers.  It's even sweeter for him, she suspects, that one of the gofers is his older brother.  _'Course, Vannarik is probably happy not to get too close to the Doctor.  _The Time Lord gave him a good scare when he tried to stick his knife into the TARDIS_._

Lunch is a picnic.  Most of the caprock is covered by the solar panels, but there's enough room between them and the waist-high safety railing to spread out blankets.  _They're almost too pretty to sit on, _she thinks, even as she settles down to eat_.  Ought to be hanging on a wall, like those tapestries in the castle on Trehinor_.

One of the Haveners passes out thick flatbreads, each one the size of a large napkin.  Another distributes two-pronged forks, their bone handles carved into graceful spirals.  Stacked containers are opened to reveal morsels of roast meat, marinated vegetables, and fruit.  As the containers pass from hand to hand, Rose spears pieces of food and places them on her 'plate'.  A bright orange pickle is spicier than she likes, but everything else is delicious.

"You don't want the chatkha?" Jack asks.

Rose shakes her head.  "Too hot for my tastes."

"I like hot," Jack says with an exaggerated leer.  "In fact, I--"

The Doctor lets out a soft snort.  Rose picks up the cube of chatka -- she only took a tiny nibble -- and pops it into Jack's mouth.  He swallows it along with the rest of his sentence.

Kurden is handing out cups.  Something like a large canteen hangs from a shoulder strap.  He fills a cup for Estridon, then turns to the visitors.  "Honoured Guests, you will like this, I am sure."

The Doctor take a sniff.  "Thorn-fruit?"

Kurden nods.  "The juice, spiced with sweetleaf."

The Doctor drinks deeply.  "That's fantastic, that is."

"It also makes an excellent wine," Estridon says.  "When the work is done, you must sample some."

"We'd love to," Rose replies.  "Cheers!"  She touches her cup to Jack's.

Kurden lingers just long enough to watch them take long, thirsty gulps before moving on to serve others.

All too soon, the empty food containers are packed away. The young gofers take their time shaking and folding the picnic blankets.  Rose digs in her pocket for the tool she'd been using, which resembles a wire-bristled toothbrush.  She assumes that she'll return to what she was doing before lunch -- scrubbing corrosion off conduit tips.  She turns to Jack.  "Think I can get a job as a dentist's assistant after this?"

Jack is staring into the distance.  It's not at all like him.  "Oi, Jack!"  She steps closer and notices that he's breathing very fast, almost hyperventilating.  "You okay?"  He doesn't respond.  She steps in front of him.  Jack's pupils are much bigger than should be possible beneath this bright, cloudless sky.  Only thin rings of blue border the huge black circles.  "Jack?  What's happening?"

He doesn't respond.  She's about to turn, to get help, when his nose starts bleeding.  At first it's just a few drops, but within ten seconds it's a thin but steady stream.

_This is bad.  This is very bad._  Her mate Shireen had nosebleeds when she was little.  Something to do with allergies, her mum said, and she grew out of them by the time she turned ten.   This is much worse, with the blood flowing from both nostrils, and -- oh hell! -- a bright red tear forming at the corner of his left eye. _ Besides, Jack doesn't _get_ allergies, he told me that.  They did something to his immune system before he was born._

If it's not an allergy, and he didn't fall down or get hit... she'd not sure what the other possible causes might be.  Surely a brain tumour couldn't develop so quickly?  Jack had a full med-scan just a month ago, when he got conked on the head during the Trehinor revolution.  A venomous insect?  An alien fungus?

In the split second it takes for her to think about these terrifying possibilities, she's already turning, eyes searching for the person who will _know_, who can make everything right again.  "Doctor?  Something's wrong with Jack."

The Doctor's right behind her.  _Oh, my God!_  His eyes look just like Jack's -- enormous pupils almost completely eclipsing the irises.  There's no blood, and he isn't breathing funny, but it can't be a coincidence.  "Doctor?" she squeaks.

Jack spins around, staring at the Doctor.  And the Doctor _whimpers_ \-- really, there's no other word, he whimpers like a frightened child -- and lunges at Jack.  Rose takes an involuntary step backwards, but before she can protest, the two men are grappling with each other.  It's more like wrestling than a fistfight, but there's nothing fun or playful about it.  The Doctor tries to shove Jack aside, but the younger man ducks and twists, and the Doctor's hands brush across his face, becoming coated with the blood that is still streaming from Jack's nose.

Rose is shouting, begging for them to stop it, _stop it_!  The Doctor screams, and the sound is like nothing she has ever heard.  High-pitched, and with more than one note in it, like a shrill chord from a church organ.

Jack lets out a hoarse gasp and stumbles backwards, colliding with Hanorra.  He recoils again and drops into a crouch, arms crossed in front of his face.

"Somebody help -- please -- don't let them hurt each other!"  Rose tries to step between the two men, but the Doctor is turning, pushing A'atrans out of his way as he heads towards the front of the caprock.  He looks like he's about to break into a run, to head straight for the low railing and the fatal emptiness beyond, only Kurden is there, frozen in place with terror or stupidity or misplaced courage, and the Doctor dodges sideways and half-jumps half-falls into the spiral stairway.

  
*****

She's running.  Feels like she's always been running, and always will.  She remembers, in a blurry sort of way, begging Estridon to take care of Jack, and hurrying down the stairs after the Doctor.  When she reaches the bottom he's out of sight, but she knows which way he must be going.  _TARDIS.  Gotta be._  There's confusion and shouting in the settlement as she passes through, but no one tries to stop her.  Once she's on the path beside the stream, she breaks into a proper full-out run.  Less than a minute later, she sees the Doctor.

She never realised before how much he holds back when they're running together.  The dark figure ahead of her is tearing up the path at a fantastic speed, even though he's zigging and zagging like a drunk.  "Doctor!" she shouts.  "Wait for me!"

He doesn't slow, doesn't even glance over his shoulder.  Instead, he runs even faster.  Rose tries to shout louder, but she has a stitch in her side and her lungs feel like they're going to explode.  The sight of the TARDIS up ahead comforts her.  Once they're inside the TARDIS, everything will be okay.  The Doctor will figure out what's wrong with Jack, and with himself, and he'll sort it.  He'll sort everything.

The Doctor scarcely slows as he approaches the TARDIS.  Suddenly, the door is half open.  The Doctor slips through, and slams it shut behind him.

Rose is ten metres away and fumbling for her key when a sound like a raspy growl brings her to a halt.  She stares.  _P'rhaps_ _I'm sick, too.  Hallucinating.  Must be_.  Something is wrong with her eyes or her brain, because she can't possibly be watching the TARDIS dematerialise.


	12. Chapter 12

He's gone mad, or perhaps the Universe has.  Colours have faded to grey; shapes are blurred around the edges, or blend with one another in a way that makes him slightly queasy.  Everything smells like dust and ash.  Finished. Used up.  Like a timeline that has bled out all of its possibilities -- or had them brutally ripped away -- until it becomes a never-was.

Sound has diminished into whispers and dull thuds with no echoes.  Only the voices are loud and sharp -- as loud as they have rarely been since he was four or five, and learnt to barricade his mind, as befitted a Responsible Being, a member of a Superior Civilisation.

The barriers are down now, and the voices are loud.  The deaf never know how loud they are.  The chatter floating on the top is annoying, even disorienting, the way it all swirls together, but the undervoices are screaming, and they don't even know that they are screaming.  Envy, resentment, despair, arrogance, apathy, and fear.  Especially fear.

Jack's fear is louder than any.  _'Course it is_.  The lad is terrified, and his fear has started a feedback loop that intensifies with every cycle.  What he feels from Jack is so clamorous and raw that it makes him want to retaliate, strike back with fist or blade...or mind.  He could do it, even in the midst of this cloud of madness.  He could silence that voice, possibly forever.  He's got the strength, and what control he has left is crumbling.

Now is the time to do what he has always done/must always do/will always do.  _Run!_  He lunges at Jack, at the others who stand in his way, shoving them aside with open hands.  _Open hands, empty hands -- O Time and Stars! -- bloody hands._  The blood on his hands is spreading, dripping, flowing.  It will become a pool, a lake, a sea.  It will drown them all if he doesn't contain it.  There is only one place where he can do that.  _Containment.  Safety._  _Home.  Prison_.

_TARDIS._

*****

Rose stares at the spot where the TARDIS used to be.  She wants to have hysterics right now, really she does.  Wants to curl up in a ball, or maybe scream and curse and break things, only that's a luxury she hasn't got, not with Jack up on that cliff, sick or maybe poisoned, and needing help.

_The cliff!  Maybe the Doctor's bringing the TARDIS up there to treat Jack as quick as possible?_  She wants to believe it, but she remembers those wild, mad eyes, and she knows it can't be true.

Doesn't matter.  She's got to get back to Jack as soon as possible.  Rose turns and finds eight A'atrans staring at her.  Now that she thinks about it, she thought she heard other footsteps while she was running.  She looks at them.  Five of them are Haveners -- the youngsters who were born here on the planet that their parents named Haven.  Three are Journeyers -- adults who travelled here from Lyonnesse.  Their expressions range from excited to confused to fearful, and it's obvious they all saw the TARDIS disappear.

She searches the group for familiar faces.  She only knows one of the Journeyers -- Hanorra, Estridon's older apprentice.  The Haveners were volunteers on the cliff, running errands or doing grunt work, so she recognises them all, though the only name she remembers is Danachen.  And she isn't at all surprised that it's impulsive, outspoken Danachen who's the first to step forward.  "Rose, what was that?"

Not much point in repeating the half-lie they told yesterday, that the blue box was where they kept their tools.  "It's our ship.  The TARDIS is our ship."

"Dani!"  Hanorra's voice is unexpectedly harsh.  "Come here."

Rose looks at Hanorra, and she sees that the harshness comes from fear.  Unpredictable aliens.  Impossible, vanishing spaceships.  She can understand that fear, can even sympathize with it, but she hasn't got time to indulge it, not now.  "Jack!  How's Jack?"

Hanorra softens.  "He was no worse when I left.  Estridon sent me to find you.  And he summoned a medic."

That ought to reassure her, but it's not likely that the local medics know anything about treating humans.  "Right.  Better get back up there."  Her aching muscles complain, but she's used to running in worse circumstances.

*****

He looks around the Control Room.  Only a few moments ago, his mind interpreted it as a forest.  A forest in a cave.   
He shivers again.  What could have disoriented him so much that he didn't even recognise the TARDIS?  Even the worst regeneration crisis has never done that, and he's still in the same body he started the day with.  He looks down to be absolutely sure of that.  It's a mistake, because those familiar hands are still coated with half-dried blood.  He'll know more once he's recovered enough to walk to the medbay. 

_Can find out something now..._  The ident scanner on the TARDIS console is within reach.  The tip of his little finger is clean.  He presses the button, then holds the bloody palm under the flickering beam of light.  Within five seconds the readout beeps.  _Human.  Adult male.  Harkness, Jack._

The other hand gives the same result.  There's no trace of Rose's blood, but that don't particularly reassure him.  Humans are fragile creatures, and there are so many ways to damage them.  _What did I do to Jack?_ echoes like a dirge in his mind, alternating with _Did I do something to Rose, too?_

He tries to take a couple of steps away from the console, and nearly topples over.  _Not yet.  _He ought to sit down again, rest a while, but remains standing.  No delays, no backtracking.  As soon as he can, he must go to the medbay.  He'd be willing to crawl if that was an option, but he's got to keep the blood on his hands -- _Jack's blood_, a small voice reminds him -- for testing.

*****

Estridon meets her at the top of the stairway.  "I think he is a little better.  The bleeding has slowed -- perhaps even stopped.  We tried to clean his face with wet cloths, but he became agitated when anyone touched him."

Jack is lying on his side, knees drawn against his chest.  Several picnic blankets are spread out beneath him, and a folded one is under his head.  Despite the heat -- it must be nearly 40, Rose reckons -- he is shivering. 

"We made him comfortable and left him alone," Estridon explains.

"You did well in doing so, Engineer," a voice behind them announces.  "A living being is not a machine that you can toy with until it responds in a way that suits you."

Rose whirls around to stare at a familiar face.  "Elder Sojore is our Senior Medic," Estridon explains.

_S'pose it's not so strange, their royal nanny being a medic.  Child minders in a creche have to learn first aid.  _Right now, only one thing matters.  "Can you help him?"_  
_  
"I don't know."  The Elder's voice is quiet, dispassionate.  "I have no experience treating aliens.  Can you persuade him to allow me to examine him?"

She kneels beside him.  "Jack?  'S me."

"Rose?"  His voice is so soft and shaky that she practically has to put her ear against his mouth.  "You okay?"

"That's my line," she scolds him.  "I'm all right.  You're the one lying here with bloodstains all over your shirt.  Gave me a real fright."

"S-sorry.  Don't exactly remember what happened."  His pupils are not quite as huge as they were before.  "Rose, hold me?  I know it's stupid but I feel so damn scared."

"'Course I will."  She curls up behind him in a spoon position, her front pressed against his back.  She strokes his arm gently, murmurs soothing words, lays soft kisses on the nape of his neck.  On the edges of her vision, she's aware of Estridon and Sojore watching them.  _Let 'em watch.  This is what Jack needs._

Suddenly he stiffens, a spasm going through him like a jolt of electricity.  "The Doctor!"

She doesn't hesitate.  "He's hiding in the TARDIS.  Saw him go in with my own eyes, before I came back to check on you."

"He's okay?"

"He was up and running fast as an Olympic sprinter," she says truthfully, "and _his_ nose wasn't streaming blood like a fountain."  She chooses not to mention what she'd seen in the Doctor's face.  It was more than fear -- it was terror mixed with madness.

When his shaking has quieted to the occasional shiver, Rose pulls away from Jack, though she stays within touching distance.  She turns Jack to face her.  "The medic's here. You know her -- Sojore.  She wants to examine you.  Think you can hold still for that?"

Jack is silent for much longer than she expects.  Finally, he says, "I'll try."  He adds, "Hold my hand?"

"'Course."  Rose beckons to Sojore, who walks slowly forward, like a vet approaching a wounded dog.

Jack grips Rose's hand so tightly it hurts, but he doesn't move as Sojore shines a small torch into his eyes and then into his nostrils.  Sojore unclips a small scanner from her belt and slowly waves it over his body.  When she reaches the upper torso, she frowns.  She peers at the readout, then passes the scanner over Jack's chest again.  She tilts her head back and forth -- an A'atran gesture of confusion.   "Havru guide me!  I don't understand."

She looks at Rose: studying, appraising.  "You are the same species, yes?  I do not know what is normal for your kind.  Perhaps I can use your readings as a baseline, since you appear unaffected."

"Same species, yeah," Rose confirms.  She wonders if she should mention that there's three thousand years between them, and that Jack's DNA has been tinkered with in complicated ways that she doesn't understand.  _Nah.  Better not._

__Rose forces herself to stand still as the scanner translates her body functions into numbers and glyphs she can't interpret.  Sojore's face is equally unreadable. 

"I am sorry..."  The voice is soft and regretful.

A sliver of something icy is stuck in Rose's throat.  For a moment, she can't breathe, then she takes in a sudden, deep gasp.

"I can't tell you what happened," Sojore says, "but his condition appears to be improving.  His heart rate is faster than yours, but it is slowing.  In one of my people, I would diagnose a reaction to something he ate or drank."  Her hands move in a graceful gesture that makes Rose think of a shrug.  "Without a better knowledge of his body chemistry, I would not take the risk of providing medication.  I prescribe rest, and re-hydration, and small meals.  The foods at dinner gave him no trouble, I believe."

Sojore studies Rose as if she's a sum that doesn't quite add up.  "You have had no symptoms?"

"No.  No, I'm fine."  The medic nods, dismissing her, and turns to talk to Estridon.

_She didn't ask about the Doctor.  Bloody hell, I s'pose she's already heard about the TARDIS disappearing._  Rose does her best to push the thought aside as she settles back onto the blankets.  Right now, she's got to take care of Jack.

*****

It takes him much longer than he expects -- nineteen minutes, forty-three seconds -- before he's steady enough to walk.  He heads off in the direction of the medbay, walking with one bent elbow brushing against the corridor wall to help him keep his balance.  He can't touch anything with his hands, not yet.

Once inside the medbay, he locates a sterile flask and a pipette.  A few drops of solvent turn the half-dried blood on his left hand into a usable sample for testing.  While that's processing, he washes his hands as carefully as if he's scrubbing for surgery.  The sample of his own blood has got to be collected before the toxin is completely out of his system, and it mustn't be contaminated.

Part of him wants to run back to the Control Room and hit the fast return button.  The colder, more rational part knows that once he's back in the time stream he has to be ready to act immediately.  He won't get a second chance to help Jack and Rose.  If this stuff can knock a Time Lord for a loop, what will it do to a couple of humans?

  
*****

Jack's dreams are full of bright colour: blue sky, copper-tinged rocks, red blood.  When he opens his eyes, he doesn't realise at first that he's awake.  Everything is white.  It's not the bright, featureless white of sun-glare blindness.  Not the cold, industrial white of prisons and hospitals.  This is more...textured, like a sand dune, and he wonders if he's dreaming of home.

"Jack?"  Rose's voice brings him back to the here and now.  He's staring at the white ceiling of the white room.  Cautiously, he raises his head and the tops of the white walls come into view.  _So far, so good._  He sits up slowly, and is pleased to find that his body doesn't seem to object.  Much.  He's got a mild headache, and he can feel some developing bruises.

Rose appears at the side of his bed and offers him a cup of water.  He downs it in one long gulp.  "Thanks."  She leads him through the expected litany of questions.  How does he feel?  Not bad.  Does he remember what happened?  Vaguely.  Some dizziness, and then overwhelming fear.  Not fear of anything in particular, just fear, raw and terrible.  The examination was an ordeal, but he's been through worse.  And then, when he was recovered enough to endure contact with strangers, being half-carried down the stairs and back to this room.

Rose nods.  "Sojore said I should let you sleep as long as you wanted.  It's been about two hours."

"So, what does the Doctor think about all this?"  Jack tenses when he sees all expression and colour drain from her face.  "Rose?  Is he still hiding in the TARDIS?"

She puts a finger to her lips, gestures at his wristcomp, and then at the perimeter of the room.  He checks the readout.  All clear.  "What's wrong with the Doctor?"

Rose stands before him, hands clasped tightly together.  Her tongue flicks across her upper lip.  "I told you the truth before, but not all of it.  The Doctor was acting just like you, 'cept his nose didn't bleed.  He was really spooked.  Didn't talk, didn't seem to hear me.  He ran off...and I followed him.  I didn't want to leave you, but--"

"You did the right thing," he says gently, though his heart is beating loud enough that he can hear it pounding in his ears.  He takes hold of Rose's arm and tugs gently until she's sitting beside him on the bed.

"He ran to the TARDIS -- he ran really fast, Jack.  So fast that I couldn't catch up."  Her eyes are pleading for him to understand, to forgive her.  "An' then the TARDIS dematerialised.  He's gone, Jack.  The Doctor is gone."

Jack feels as though someone has just sucked all of the oxygen out of the room.  _The Doctor is gone.  No.  Can't be._  "He wouldn't leave us," he protests.  It's a reflex, saying that.  He knows that Rose wouldn't lie about this. 

"He did!"  With these two words, Rose abandons any pretence of self-control and begins to weep.

Jack grabs her in a tight hug.  "It'll be okay," he says over and over, and maybe he's talking to himself as well as to Rose.

When the tears stop and Rose's shoulders are no longer shaking, Jack forces himself to think.  "If the Doctor had the same thing I did, he would have been feeling scared."  _Terrified_, an inner voice corrects.  "I think you were right when you said he was 'hiding'.  He'd want to be in a safe and familiar place.  And when he got inside the TARDIS and _still_ felt afraid, he'd follow instinct, and take the TARDIS--"

"Take her where?" Rose demands.

"It doesn't matter."  She gawks at him, speechless.  "Really -- it doesn't matter.  Into the Vortex, back to Trehinor or Retheros Station or Earth.  The point is, he'll stay inside until he recovers and the fear goes away, and then he'll come back to us."

"What if he can't come back to us?  What if he doesn't get better?"

Jack can't blame her for worrying.  He isn't nearly as calm as he sounds.  "I got over it, and so will he.  If it hit him harder, maybe it'll take longer for him to recover, but he will recover."  He lowers his voice and puts on his best Northern accent.  "Time Lord, me.  Not as fragile as you apes."

The sound that bursts out of Rose Tyler's lips is half laugh half sob.  "Yeah, he'd say something daft like that."  She huffs out a loud breath, and the laughter is gone.  "Jack, people will be asking questions.  When the Doctor took off, there was an audience.  And then I made it even worse by announcing that the disappearing box was our ship, the TARDIS."  She hangs her head.  "I'm sorry."

"Nothing for you to be sorry about."

"I spilled our secret!"

"Which was not so secret any more.  The disappearing box already gave it away."  She starts to protest, but he won't let her.  With loving firmness, he places an open hand on either side of her head and pulls her towards him until their noses are almost touching.  "Let's focus on the important stuff.  You did a great job of looking after us.  You made sure that the Doctor didn't fall into a ravine or get lost in the badlands, and then you came back and took care of me.  More than that, you probably saved my life."

She can feel the heat of a blush creeps up her face.  "Don't be silly."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"  Jack isn't often in serious mode.  Of course there are times when he's in pain, or angry, or worried.  Mostly though, he's got a grin and a quip for every situation, even when they're being chased by monsters.  Now his expression is intense, focused, as though he's about to tell her something vitally important.  "Rose, you don't know what it was like.  What I was feeling was sheer terror.  Not a nightmare or a scary hallucination -- just one hundred percent pure distilled fear.  If you hadn't been there for me, I don't know what I would have done.  I might have thrown myself over the edge.  But you were there with me and I knew I was going to get through it."

Rose looks less miserable now, but her forehead creases.  "Jack, what was 'it'?  What made you two sick?  Sojore says it was probably something you ate."

"Could be.  Maybe there's a spice that the A'atrans can eat but is toxic to us."

"So why didn't I get sick?  We all ate the same stuff."  She pauses.  "No -- wait.  There was that pickle I didn't like."

"You tasted a tiny bite of it," Jack points out. "The Doctor and I didn't eat much more than you did.  If the toxin was in the chatkha, you ought to have had _some_ kind of reaction."

Rose frowns.  "Unless it affects some people and not others.  Could it be 'cos you two are blokes?"

Jack shakes his head.  He doesn't know as much as he'd like about Time Lords, but he does know that the Doctor's biochemistry is very different to his own.  However human that body looks, even naked, it doesn't contain a drop of testosterone.  His thoughts start travelling down a different path.  "There are other things the Doctor and I have in common, besides being male.  And the symptoms are a clue.  I'll bet that something in our lunch was a chemical compound that only affects--"

*****

_Telepaths.  _The Doctor re-reads the molecular formula that the bio-analyser printed out for him.  _The damn stuff is a psychotropic agent_ _that only affects telepaths._  It's in both samples of blood -- his and Jack's.

This is good news, as much as anything about this bollocksed-up mess can be called good.  Jack's telepathy is minimal, so he won't have had much of a reaction, and Rose would have been untouched.  His own recollection of the scene on top of the cliff is blurry, like a nightmare that the mind resists remembering.  _Jack was bleeding from his nose.  Did I do that?  Did I belt him?  An' Rose?_  _No!  I couldn't have hurt Rose._  Another fragment of memory drifts past: Rose running after him, calling him.  _They'll be all right_, he thinks, then snorts.  _Yeah, aside from feelin' terrified and abandoned, they'll be right as rain._

He takes another look at the formula.  Its function was evident from the first moment he glanced at it.  Now he can see other details, other patterns.  It's not a naturally-occurring compound.  It--

***

"--had to be artificially engineered," Jack says.

"You're sure?"  It's a question, not a challenge.

"I'm sure," he says flatly.  "I can't prove it, not without some pretty sophisticated equipment, but I'm sure.  Even if the compound was found in some berry or seed, it would have to be purified and concentrated to have that kind of effect."

Rose doesn't need to understand organic chemistry to grasp the implications.  "Someone poisoned you two on purpose?  Gave you a drug to make you crazy?"

"I think I was collateral damage.  They set out to poison a Time Lord.  The fact that I have a touch of telepathy was just an unfortunate coincidence."  His mouth tightens.  "Or a nice bonus."

"But, how--"

"It was probably in the juice," Jack continues.  "That's how I would have done it, back in my Agency days.  Liquids are a better delivery system than solid foods, and the spices in the juice would cover any odd taste."

She thinks about the grinning boy in the green-as-spring tunic, pouring out cupfuls of juice.  "You think that _Kurden_ did this?"

Jack shakes his head. "Nah.  Not the kid.  Someone down below spiked the entire container of juice.  Easiest way to be sure of getting your target.  It was hot up there, remember, and everyone was drinking.  The A'atrans aren't telepaths, so there was no danger to anyone except us."

"The Outsiders," Rose says.  She quotes part of the grafitti than an anonymous hand chalked on their door last night.  "Let evil be cast out..."  She thinks of the Doctor running heedlessly towards the cliff edge.  _Oh, God!_  "Who could  do this?  And why?  I mean--"  She gestures helplessly.

Jack nods as if she's making perfect sense.  "They don't like aliens, but in this kind of culture it's a big leap from dislike -- even hate -- to murder.  The timing is weird, too.  Why now?  Why not wait until we finish the repairs?"

"It's not the Council," she says, thinking out loud.  "They want us to sort all the mechanical stuff.  They'd wait.  An' they wouldn't need to be so sneaky."

Despite the somber topic, his eyes smile approval at her.  "Clever girl.  This was meant to look like an accident.  The aliens go crazy.  Maybe they fight each other and fall off the cliff.  Maybe they attack innocent A'atrans and have to be executed before they can do any more harm."

_But we didn't do what we were expected to do_.  "What do we do now?  We can't just sit on our bums and wait for the Doctor."

"True.  I was thinking that we might take care of some unfinished business."

"The solar array?  Can you finish that without-- on your own?"

"I could do, but I had some other business in mind." Jack's grin is quick and feral and dangerous.  "I was thinking we might go hunting for a poisoner."

_tbc_   



	13. Chapter 13

"Right, then," Rose says as she jumps off the bed. "Where do we start?"

Jack looks at his lover. There's a hardness on her face that probably mirrors his own. In his first few days on the TARDIS, he didn't believe Rose could be dangerous. Clever, yes. Courageous, definitely. That much he knew from the beginning, but he'd thought her no more fierce than a kitten displaying its tiny claws.

When did he begin to see her differently? When the Sharvan bandits attacked? In the middle of the Ephche Revolution? He's not sure, but he knows what convinced him that his 'kitten' was as harmless as a Tyrniv hunting-cat . . .

  
*****

  
They were prisoners on a Skerrin warship. Rose crawled through the service ducts, then hung by her knees from an electrical conduit in the compartment where he and the Doctor were being interrogated. Jack watched in horror from the corner of his eye as she dangled three metres above the floor, wiggling to get into position.

If the Skerrin Inquisitor had turned his head for any reason, he would have seen Rose, and could have ripped her open with one careless swipe of his serrated dagger. He was -- thank gods! -- too busy threatening his captives. Rose pulled a large wad of gum from her mouth and slapped it over the rear intake valve of the Inquisitor's battlesuit. She dismounted with a flip that left her standing a safe distance from the choking, convulsing Skerrin. Rose didn't remove the gum until the nearly-comatose Inquisitor was bound with his own shackles. "You're lucky that my blokes aren't hurt," she said, jabbing the dagger in the air to emphasise each word. And she described in detail what she would have done to avenge them.

Jack was shocked by Rose's vehemence -- and by her possessiveness. It wasn't what he was used to from someone who was neither a lover nor a relative. The Doctor had said very little, but his cool, thoughtful gaze kept shifting from Rose to Jack and back again . . .

  
*****

  
"Right now," Jack says casually, "I think we should take a nice, lazy stroll. Fresh air and sunshine should do me good, don't you think?"

Rose's eyes widen, and then she smiles at him. "Should do, yeah. And while we're walking, might say hullo to some people we know." She fiddles idly with one of her braids. "We hoping to say hullo to anyone in particular?"

"Several," Jack answers promptly, "but especially Kurden."

"But you said--"

"I don't suspect him, but I'd like to know where he got that juice. If I can get a sample, that might help me track down the 'special ingredient'. Kurden is the beginning of that trail."

Rose offers Jack her arm. "You're still a bit weak, yeah?" She winks. "Might get dizzy, lose your balance..."

Camouflage. _Clever girl._ As they walk down the corridor towards the exit, Jack's pace slows. He lets his whole body sag slightly, as if gravity has just increased.

They step out together into the afternoon brilliance, a harmless invalid and his overprotective lover.

  
*****

  
He leans over the console and stares at the fast-return switch. He's told Rose and Jack that it will take the TARDIS back to the last time and place it materialised. And yeah, it does exactly what it says on the tin. He's just not sure that he ought to return to that particular moment: an awkward distance from the settlement, and in front of witnesses who saw him acting the madman less than a minute before. Better to aim for the centre of the settlement where he can find his partners quickly.

If things go pear-shaped -- well, more than they have already -- Rose and Jack can run for the TARDIS. He spends 1.75 seconds considering their likely reaction to such an order, and shakes his head. _Humans! _They're so brilliantly, foolishly loyal.

Precision landings -- like the ones he performed during that hideous mess with Rose's dad -- have to be manually programmed. Fortunately, he's not going in blind. The TARDIS databanks now have some very detailed scans of Haven. His hands move with deliberate slowness across the switches that determine dimensional locality. When those are set, he begins to turn the dial of the chronostatic transector, spinning it towards the temporal coordinates he wants.

The dial sticks at a setting somewhat later than he'd planned. With just an extra bit of force, he twists it into the position he wants. A moment later, the console vibrates, and the dial begins to drift in a clockwise direction. "No you don't!' He spins it back to where it ought to be. It remains motionless, but after he double-checks his pockets for the medscanner he wants to bring along, the dial has changed again.

"What's this about?" he says aloud, the Gallifreyan phrase feeling both familiar and awkward on his tongue. He doesn't speak his birth language often. He doesn't need words in any language to communicate with the TARDIS, but sometimes he indulges himself. Or punishes himself. He's never quite sure which it is.

The TARDIS does not reply. The pitch of the engines does not change, nor does the soft hum in the back of his mind. If she's changing the setting on purpose, she's being vague about it. He turns the dial once more, and this time it remains where he left it. _She's got an opinion, but she won't insist. _He frowns at her.

His hand hovers over the dial. The TARDIS is sapient and brilliant in her own way, but she and her kind were never bred for decision-making. No, it's his responsibility. His hand descends, his fingers grasp and twist. His decision, but no reason he can't take some advice from an old friend.

  
*****

  
They don't have any trouble finding people to talk to. As they stroll along, people approach them. There's never a crowd, just one person (or two or three) detouring across the wide plaza, or spilling out of the doors of the cliff-dwellings. Nearly everyone wants to talk to them, including A'atrans they've never met. Mostly they want to ask Jack how he's doing, or thank him for the repairs to the power system.

Rose feels invisible. Oh, everyone is polite, and they greet her, but she's an afterthought. _This isn't about you_, she scolds herself. _We're trying to find a poisoner_. Besides, there's one advantage to being mostly ignored: she can study the locals and their reactions.

The Journeyers are more formal, more restrained than the Haveners, but maybe that's just because they're older. The Haveners are more openly curious. _Where is the Doctor? _

_How long are the offworlders staying? Do they really have a demat pod?_

She lets Jack answer the questions. _He's taking care of some things on the ship. Until the repairs are finished. Not exactly -- it's a different technology_.

Jack behaves as though he's on holiday and is strolling along a seaside promenade. He jokes with the children and chats up the adults. Even when it's clear that an individual has nothing useful to say, Jack is in no rush to move along.

Rose takes her cue from him. She smiles, chimes in with small talk when it feels right, and doesn't let her body show any of the impatience she feels. The skills she learnt at Henrik's are still coming in useful, even in a galaxy far, far away.

After what feels like days of this and is probably only an hour, a familiar figure in green darts out of the next doorway. "Oi! Kurden!" Rose calls.

"Rose! Jack!" The boy bows clumsily to each of them in turn.

Kurden asks the expected questions, and Jack answers them, but in more detail than he gave the others. Kurden drinks in every word. Rose smiles to herself. She knows a case of hero worship when she sees one.

After ten minutes of conversation, Jack says casually, "Maybe you could answer a question for me."

The boy's eyes go wide, but under his surprise is delight at the idea that he can do something for his idol.

Jack explains that his illness was caused by an allergy -- most likely a spice in the juice. "If I can get a sample of the juice, I should be able to identify the spice. Then I can avoid it, instead of living on bread and water for the rest of my stay here. So if you could tell me who brewed that delicious and very troublesome beverage..."

Kurden frowns. "I don't know. He just asked me to bring it up top and to be sure the visitors got some. Because it's special. But he would know. I think."

"Who's _he_?" Rose asks.

He blinks at her. "Merron."

  
*****

  
Jack doesn't have to make any special effort to keep his thoughts from showing. It's second nature by now, and has been for more years. That's one way he knew he was falling for Rose and the Doctor -- he wanted them to see beyond the mask he wore for casual encounters.

He smiles at Kurden, and that doesn't take much effort, because he's a good kid. A good kid with his eyes on the stars, who deserves better than to waste his talent on a lifetime of minor maintenance tasks. "Thanks. I'll ask him when I see him." He adds just enough chitchat to take Kurden's thoughts away from Merron, then gradually ends the conversation.

As they stroll away, Rose murmurs, "Not Merron. He'd throw a punch -- or a knife if he was mad enough, but not poison."

"I agree," Jack says. He hasn't met the young sculptor, but Rose described her two encounters with the boy to him. "His brother Kiy isn't the type, either. No gutsy enough or desperate enough. Besides, where the hell would they get the stuff? It's not like that simple-but-nasty gas they welcomed us with. You can't keep a tin of it in the cupboard just in case a telepathic visitor wanders by. A neurotoxin like that has to be compounded within two hours of use." He frowns. "We have to follow the trail further back. I hate to say it, but I don't think I can get Merron to talk to me. Right now I'm probably his least favourite person on the planet."

"He doesn't exactly think of me as his best mate," Rose says, "but do we need to talk to him?"

"What's the alternative?"

"Do the Sherlock Holmes bit."

Jack frowns. Since coming aboard the TARDIS he's done a lot of reading about pop culture of early 21st Century Earth, but Rose still manages to toss out references that baffle him.

"Figure out the clues," she explains. "On the telly, detectives are always going on about three things: motive, opportunity, and means." Rose holds up one finger. "Motive. Dunno. I don't think it can be personal, 'cos we haven't done anything to anybody, except for Merron and Kiy."

Jack agrees. "And we've already crossed both of them off the list."

"Could be someone who hates all Outsiders," Rose says. "Could even be someone we haven't met." She pulls a face. "So much for motive."

Jack holds up two fingers. "Opportunity. Who could have slipped a few drops of liquid into the juice?"

"Almost anyone," Rose replies. "It prob'ly wasn't locked up. Did you notice? They don't have locks on most of the doors here."

Jack nods. "Yeah, they're a trusting lot. At least, they trust each other. It's a societal pattern that--"

"Honoured guests!"

They turn to see the young woman who escorted them to the VIP dinner, which seems like a million years ago. "Honoured guests," she repeats, "the Council of Elders wish to speak with you. Please, accompany me."

Jack and Rose exchange glances. Without a word, they follow their guide to the circular Hall of Meeting.

All eleven Elders are there, wearing their ceremonial scarves. Elder Dathiha looks at Jack. "Captain, are you well?"

He gives her a tired smile. "Much better, thanks."

She nods gravely. "Honoured Guests, on behalf of the Council of Elders and the A'atran people, I wish to offer our thanks for your assistance." She continues for several minutes like this. There's emotion behind her formal and elegant words, but Rose can't figure out what kind it is.

Eventually she stops. _Our turn._ Rose glances at Jack. _He's loads better than me at diplomacy, _she thinks, but he just nods encouragingly at her. "Elder, we're glad we were able to help you with your equipment and . . . stuff. There's a saying on my planet that we call The Golden Rule. 'Do unto others as you would have them do to you.'"

Dathiha looks at Jack. "And on your planet, do they have this saying, also?"

"I was born on a colony world, but I think all human-settled planets have some version of the Golden Rule," Jack replies.

"And the Doctor?"

"The Doctor makes his own rules, and helping people is number one," Rose says.

"I had hoped to offer thanks to the Doctor, also. He will perhaps return soon?"

"Soon," Rose agrees.

"But if he is delayed?" another Elder asks. "What then?"

"The Doctor will return for us as quickly as possible," Jack says confidently.

"But he was unwell when he left," Dathiha says. "If he does not return . . ."

The Elder sounds worried, which is almost enough to make Rose like her until the penny drops. _She's not worried about the Doctor, she's worried that she's gonna be stuck with a couple of Outsiders._ The idea that the Doctor's absence means nothing to these people -- except inconvenience -- makes her so furious that at first she doesn't hear what Jack's saying.

"--some tools, I can signal the next ship that passes near this system."

"No!" It's Elder Priyan, Merron's dad. "That would bring more Outsiders here. Unacceptable!"

Jack shrugs. "Then we'll wait until the Doctor gets back."

The Elders are silent.

"We can make ourselves useful," Jack says.

"You are welcome to stay," Elder Sojore says. She looks at Priyan. "We are in their debt. And it will give us an opportunity to practise the Shining Virtue of hospitality."

"They were to be paid for their assistance," Priyan grumbles. He lowers his voice, but not quite low enough. "Havru save us, what if they breed?"

Rose is too stunned to say anything. Jack squeezes her hand so tightly that it's almost painful. She turns and sees that his face is wearing a polite mask. He's pretending he didn't hear anything. She ought to do the same -- they've got more important things to worry about than this pompous wanker -- but she badly wants to give him several pieces of her mind. She's wrestling with temptation when the stone chamber begins to echo with a loud noise. It's harsh and grating, and it's the sweetest sound she's ever heard.

Next to the doorway, the TARDIS is materialising.

*****

He wants to rush out the door as soon as the materialisation sequence is complete. Instead, he forces himself to be cautious and check the TARDIS scanner. He doesn't care for his own sake, but he doesn't want to run into the middle of a tense situation and make it worse for Jack and Rose. The scanner shows that the TARDIS is inside the Council Chamber. There are his companions, looking well enough, so far as he can tell. No guards or weapons in sight -- just eleven gobsmacked Elders, staring in the direction of the TARDIS. He opens the door and steps out.

He had something clever to say. He's certain he did, only he can't recall it just at the moment, because his arms are full of Rose Tyler, and Jack Harkness is wrapped around both of them. The warmth of their human bodies against his feels like sunshine after a winter night. _Thank you_, he says silently to whatever Fate or Power gave him this undeserved gift.

"Doc, are you okay?"

"You all right, Doctor?"

His companions speak almost in chorus, still clinging to him. It's a good job that he's got respiratory bypass, because he's likely to need it if they squeeze him any tighter.

"What's all this fuss?" he scolds, letting his grin deliver his true message. "'M fine." He gently disentangles himself, and pulls away just far enough to see them both. "You two all right?" Overlapping voices give him the answer he wants to hear. He studies Jack, and an icy lump the size of a comet is suddenly wedged in his throat. "How badly did I hurt you?"

Jack gives him a blank look. "Hurt me?" he echoes.

_Time and Stars, does he have memory loss?_ "There was blood," he says, holding out his well-scrubbed hands as if they still carried the evidence of his unintentional betrayal. _Your blood on my hands._

"I'm a little fuzzy about some of the details, but I'm sure I'd remember _that_," Jack says slowly.

Rose shakes her head vigorously. "Doctor, you didn't hurt him." He starts to tell her that he doesn't want comforting lies, but she grasps his shoulders and pulls him close. "You didn't hurt _anybody_. Jack had a nosebleed. You probably got some of his blood on you when you shoved him out of your way. He was already bleeding before you ever touched him." Her eyes are kind; her voice, serious. "You didn't hurt him," she repeats, and the truth rings in her words.

His hearts start beating again. "I thought--" he begins, then cuts himself off. No need to burden them with his nightmares. The memory of awakening on the TARDIS, alone and stained with his lover's blood, is a horror that will haunt him for the rest of his lives.

"We were worried about you, too," Jack says. He moves closer, and his voice drops to a murmur. "It was poison, probably in the juice. Some kind of psychotropic drug that--"

"Only affects telepaths," the Doctor finishes. "Yeah, there was enough left in your blood and mine to run a spectrographic analysis. The base compound came from a plant native to this world, but someone did a pretty sophisticated job of refinin' it." He glances at the eleven Elders who are staring at him from across the room. In a moment, the shock will wear off, and they'll have questions that he isn't prepared to answer just yet. "What do they know?"

"They think you and I had an allergic reaction to one of the spices in the juice," Jack replies.

Rose whispers, "Sojore -- she's their medic -- thought Jack and I belonged to different species, 'cos I didn't get sick. We didn't tell her about the telepathic stuff."

He nods, already thinking ahead to the tests he wants to run on Jack. The lad looks well enough, but he needs to be certain for his own peace of mind.

"She did her best to take care of Jack," Rose continues, "but she didn't want to give any medicine to him, on account of him being an alien. She was afraid it might make him sicker."

"I slept it off," Jack says. "Doctor, I'm _all right_. It wasn't fun, but I've had hangovers that were worse."

"Do you know who did it?" The anger inside him is as cold as the fear it replaced.

The humans shake their heads. "We've been trying to work it out," Rose says. "Anyone could have got at the juice."

Jack adds, "Motive doesn't help, either. Plenty of people here with no love for Outsiders."

Rose frowns. "We never got to the third part. Means. That could narrow down the list of suspects. If we had a list."

"The drug is derived from a local plant," the Doctor reminds her.

Rose shakes her head at him. "'S not what I'm talking about. There are poisonous plants in England, but I wouldn't recognise them, or know what to do with them." She pulls a face. "You two, where you come from, it's like everybody's got A Levels in _everything_. I don't think it's like that here. A weaver or a carver wouldn't need to know advanced chemistry, or biology, or whatever. But maybe someone who dyes fabric -- they use plants for that, right? Or a brewer?"

He doesn't answer -- can't answer -- because thoughts are tumbling though his mind like molecules in an autocatalytic cascade reaction. _Rose Tyler, you are brilliant, you are!_ He strides to the centre of the chamber, facing the semi-circle of A'atrans.

Elder Dathiha begins a greeting, but he cuts her off with a curt gesture. All of his attention is on one person. "Elder Sojore. You looked after my friend Jack?"

She inclines her head. "I did, though there was little I could do for him."

His voice is amazingly calm, considering the fury roiling inside him. "I think you did more'n enough for him -- or maybe I should say 'to him', seein' as you're the one who poisoned him. You mind explainin' why?"

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

There is a brief pause, and then the room erupts with sound. Most of the Elders are shouting at the Doctor, while Dathiha tries unsuccessfully to quiet them down. Only Sojore is silent. She and the Doctor stare at each other with expressions that Jack can't decipher.

_Sojore! How the hell did I miss seeing that?_

Beside him, Rose is seething, and 'lying bitch' is the mildest of her muttered remarks.

Jack grabs her hand and holds it tightly. He doesn't feel any desire to protect Sojore, but he'd like to get some answers before Rose rips her face off.

"Doctor! What is the meaning of this outrageous accusation?" Elder Dathiha demands.

"Outrageous? Yeah, I'd call attempted murder outrageous," the Doctor replies.

"And you expect me to believe that a respected Elder of this Council -- a medic sworn to healing -- poisoned Captain Harkness?"

"She poisoned the Doctor, too," Rose calls out.

Dathiha gives her a hard look. "And how is it that you were spared?"

Rose flushes with anger. She looks at the Doctor. Jack gives her hand an approving squeeze. _Let's see how he wants to play this._

"I analysed the poison. 'S a psychotropic drug that only affects telepaths," the Doctor says. "Induces a real mish-mash of symptoms." He ticks them off on his fingers. "Elevated blood pressure an' heart rate, dizziness, panic, disorientation, an' hallucinations."

Jack curses silently. _Hallucinations? The Doctor had it a lot worse than I did. Makes sense -- stronger telepath, stronger reaction. And he didn't have anyone taking care of him._ A glance at Rose's pale, taut face tells him that she's having similar thoughts.

The Doctor continues, "Most humans haven't got much in the way of psychic abilities. Rose was as safe as any A'atran drinkin' the drugged juice. Dunno if _she_ knew that, or cared." A curt jerk of his chin in Sojore's direction makes it clear which 'she' he means.

"Your analysis--" Dathiha begins.

Sojore interrupts her. "With respect, Elder, may I speak?"

Dathiha nods assent.

"I am willing -- for the moment -- to believe the Doctor's analysis found what he describes. What I do not understand is why he believes this . . . substance was deliberately and maliciously given to him and his companions, and why he names me as the culprit. I did my best to aid Captain Harkness. I am _guilty_," she says, with emphasis on the last word, "only of misdiagnosing a reaction to an unknown drug in a member of an alien species I had never before examined."

In other circumstances, Jack might accept that as a reasonable argument. He doesn't clearly remember the details of his ordeal on top of the cliff, but he's heard Rose's account of how Sojore reacted, and he knows whom he believes.

Sojore throws her hands up. "Even if I were the monster you seem to think me, Doctor, why would I use this particular drug? Few humans are telepathic, you say -- how could I know that you and Captain Harkness are among those few?"

"We heard someone eavesdroppin' on us yesterday. Medical isolation room -- you'd know where the peephole is."

"Certainly I know," she snaps. "I am the Senior Medic. The other medics know, and many other people besides. Why would I want to use it to spy on you?" Sojore raises a hand to halt any answer the Doctor might give. "Let us say that I did listen in, for curiosity or amusement or some dark motive that you cannot name. What did I hear that provoked me to violence? That you are a telepath?"

Only someone who knows him well would notice the Doctor's slight pause. "I'm not just a telepath," the Doctor says. "I'm a Time Lord."

Jack has learnt that there are as many kinds of silences as there are sounds. There is the silence on the beach when the tide is about to turn. There is the silence after Mama finishes singing, in the moment before you fall asleep. There is the silence when the trauma surgeon walks into the waiting room. The silence following the Doctor's words is like the moment after you drop an incendiary grenade and you're not sure if it was primed or not.

Dathiha says softly, "You lied to us."

"No, he didn't. I did." Rose pulls her hand from Jack's grasp and takes a step forward. "He was about to tell you the truth, and I jumped in and told you that load of bollocks about Time Agents."

_My turn_. Jack moves beside Rose. "And that was only half a lie. The Doctor isn't a former Time Agent, but I am."

The Doctor looks at them with affectionate exasperation. "An' then I held my tongue. It was a lie of omission." He turns back towards the Elders, and any hint of affection vanishes from his face. "Everything else is truth. 'Specially what I said about _he_r."

"Elders, this is absurd," Priyan sputters. "They have no proof whatsoever for these wild accusations, these vile lies."

Jack decides that self-restraint has become as useless as a blaster with a melted firing circuit, and he tosses it aside. "Someone's lying here," he agrees, "but it's not the Doctor."

The Elder beside Priyan frowns. "If this poison . . . drug causes delusions, is it possible that they are not yet free of it?"

The Doctor snorts. "You'd like to think that, wouldn't you? Makes it easier to ignore what I'm tellin' you."

Rose says, "_I_ wasn't poisoned. I didn't have any hallucinations, and I know what I saw. Sojore was confused when she examined Jack, but not until she scanned his chest. She thought he was a Time Lord, so she expected him to have two hearts."

"She already knew I was a Time Lord, cos she overheard me talkin' about my TARDIS," the Doctor says. "Everyone knows that Time Lords don't partner with 'lesser species'," he adds scornfully, "so she figured that Jack must be a Time Lord, too."

_And since Rose is from a technologically unsophisticated era, Sojore probably decided that the adorable 'primitive' was the Time Lords' pet_. Jack concludes it will be safer not to say _that_ aloud. "Rose and I are human, " he says, thumping his chest. "Just one heart."

All eyes are on Sojore. "Yes, I was confused. I freely confess it," she retorts. "I was faced with an alien species I had never before examined."

The other Elders are nodding and murmuring. Jack feels a cold tingle in his gut. _This is not going well_. He glances at the Doctor to see how he is reacting. Beneath his careless grin, the Time Lord is simmering with anger.

"Doctor, a question, if I may?" The owner of that calm, dry voice is Estridon, the Senior Engineer. Of all the Elders, Jack knows him best. A few hours atop a cliff, rewiring a temperamental power system despite sun-glare, dust, and untrained helpers, and you get the measure of a person. Tedium, frustration, and physical discomfort had not diminished Estridon's good humour.

"Yeah?" The Doctor's voice thaws just a little.

"On the Journey, whenever we visited a world, we asked about the Time War. Everywhere we received the same answer: the War was a legend, and if the Time Lords and the Daleks had ever existed, they were long gone." Estridon bows his head before continuing. "We thought that your world had suffered the same fate as Lyonnesse."

_Oh, gods! Doctor, you don't owe them an explanation._ Beside him, Rose has gone stiff, and she's barely breathing. Jack's free hand curls into a fist.

"Near enough," the Doctor says flatly. "Gallifrey is gone. The Daleks an' the Time Lords are gone. I'm the only one left."

"We share your sorrow," Estridon says. It has the sound of a ceremonial response, but he says it as though the words have real meaning to him. Like a mistimed chorus, the other Elders echo him with varying degrees of sincerity.

The Doctor's only acknowledgement is a nod. "There's still the small matter of poison an' attempted murder. Or is justice no longer counted as one of the Shining Virtues?" he asks.

Dathiha looks steadily at the Doctor. "Justice requires proof of guilt."

"I've given you all the puzzle pieces. You jus' don't want to put them together because you're afraid of what you'll see." The Doctor turns to look at Sojore. "You ought to be very, very glad that Jack is alive an' well." His shoulders sag.

"I _am_ glad," Sojore replies smoothly. "I tell you yet again that I did not wish harm to him or to any of you."

The Doctor lets out a long breath, and his shoulders drop another few centimetres. "Maybe it's just as well," he says to his companions.

"What's that, Doctor?" Rose asks.

"Maybe it's just as well that the Prince is gone."

There are sharp gasps all around the chamber.

"You go too far, Doctor," Dathiha warns.

The Doctor ignores them. "Y'know, Jack, I never met Prince Zathek, but I heard he was a good lad. Bright, well-mannered, kind. Wonder how he would have felt if he'd known that someone he loved an' trusted nearly murdered a good man?"

"Do not speak his name," Sojore commands. Jack observes that her hands, clasped tightly in front of her, are trembling.

Jack isn't quite sure where this is going, but that's nothing new when he's following the Doctor's lead. "I guess he'd feel confused. And sad."

The Doctor turns to Rose. "Betrayed," she replies promptly. "When you love someone, and you find out they've done something bad, you feel betrayed. And it's got to be even worse for a little kid."

"Yeah. S'pose you're right. Betrayed by the person who taught him about the Virtues, an' corrected him when he was wrong." The Doctor looks steadily at Sojore. Jack is standing at the wrong angle to see his expression, but he knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of that cold-steel gaze. "Poor Zathek would be very disappointed in his Soji."

"Silence, Outsider!" Sojore hisses. "Do not defile his name with your mouth."

"He died with his illusions intact. If he'd survived, he'd be a grown man now, an' rulin' as King here." The Doctor cocks his head to one side. "I hadn't thought about that. If Zathek was still alive, he'd have to judge you. Wouldn't _that_ be an awkward--"

"_Havru_ will be my judge," Sojore snaps. "Not you." She looks pleadingly at Jack. "I swear I meant you no harm, but that one--" She jerks her chin at the Doctor. "--how could I let him go free? He murdered my Prince."

*****

"Gotcha," the Doctor says softly. Rose grins at him, and Jack gives him a jaunty salute. He gives them both a quick smile, though he's feeling anything but cheery. Shooting fish in a barrel, this is. The way to provoke a confession is to push on a weak spot. He'd known from the start that Sojore's weak spot would be her lost Prince. It doesn't please him to use a dead child as a weapon. He could almost feel sorry for the woman, but then he remembers Jack's blood on his hands. Inside the pockets of his coat, those hands tighten into fists.

Meanwhile, the other Elders are busy being gobsmacked. Dathiha recovers first. "Sojore! What in Havru's name are you saying?"

"She is overset," Priyan sputters. "The stress of having these Outsiders here, their foul accusations--"

"Hush, Priyan! I have no need of you to make excuses for me. I have done nothing wrong. Whatever harm I did to the human was unintentional, and he has recovered. As for the Time Lord--" Her voice grows icy and disdainful. "--he murdered my Prince! He destroyed our world and all that we knew and loved."

Dathiha looks from the Doctor to Sojore and back again. "Doctor? Is this true? Were you responsible for the destruction of Lyonnesse?"

He looks steadily at Dathiha. He knew when he chose his strategy that this question would arise. "I didn't cause it. S'pose you could say I was responsible if you want."

Rose gasps. "Doctor, she can't blame you -- you were in another galaxy!"

_Oh, Rose. . . still so young, even for a human_. Young enough to expect the universe to be fair. Still, he can't fault her for her loyalty, or wish to see her shining idealism tarnished. "Who else is she goin' to blame?" he says gently. "I'm the only one left." He lets out a huff of breath and looks again at Dathiha. "I wasn't there. Didn't know about it until long after."

"Of course he denies it," Priyan says, but his voice lacks conviction.

The Doctor ignores him and addresses Dathiha. "Right. You've got your confession now. Poisoning an' attempted murder. What are you going to do about it?"

She exchanges glances with her fellow Elders. "I believe that we must ask our sister to remove herself from the Council." Nods of agreement follow: some immediate, some hesitant. Dathiha and Estridon approach Sojore, and with slow and solemn movements, remove the embroidered band from her neck.

"That's all?" Rose demands. "You're just going to sack her? She ought to be locked up!"

Jack says dryly, "I'm going to take a wild guess that they don't have a behavioural rehab centre here."

Dathiha's shoulders droop, but her voice is clear and strong. "What would you have us do, Doctor? Even in the dark days before we knew the Shining Virtues, a life was not forfeit unless a life had been taken. Shall we lock our sister in a cage? What purpose would that serve?"

She's got a point, not that he's going to admit it. If he hadn't landed on Haven, stirring up memories of the Time War and her dead Prince, Sojore would never have done anything violent. Once he leaves, she'll likely go back to being a peaceable and useful member of her society. He knows -- who better? -- that the universe is not fair, and revenge is rarely satisfying, but this offends him. Sojore is unrepentant. Jack's pain and Rose's terror meant nothing to her, and she would still try to take his life if she were able.

He looks at his companions. Rose is quivering with indignation. _She'd like to give Sojore a good hard slap. They are fierce, those Tyler women._ Jack is harder to read. He's not openly angry. Instead he seems. . . accepting? No, resigned. _He doesn't think I'll do anything_. Jack knows him well enough to understand that he won't use violence to resolve this, not when Sojore has ceased to be a threat.

There's no real satisfaction in revenge. It damages both parties, sometimes in ways that can't be seen, like a canker at the root of a tree. At the same time, he won't let this go. He _can't_ let this go. Sojore can't hurt people under his protection and get away without consequences.

"She's got to pay," Rose says to Dathiha. "She tried to kill the Doctor -- kill all of us."

_She's got to pay._ Rose's words echo in his mind. It's a problem faced by nearly every intelligent species with a system of law and justice: how do you balance an offence with its punishment? By Rose's time, 'an eye for an eye' is synonymous with legal harshness, but that was never the intent. When it was first introduced, it was intended to prevent excesses of punishment. 'An eye for an eye' was much, much kinder than 'a life for an eye', especially once the notion of monetary damages caught on.

He smiles. "Yeah, I'd say payment is due. Elders!" He raises his voice just enough to make sure that he has their attention. "In accord with the Shining Virtue of Justice an' the ancient laws of Lyonnesse, I demand _khatra_-price for myself an' my companions."

Another ripple of murmurs goes through the room. Dathiha looks relieved. Not surprising, that. She doesn't believe Sojore's rubbish about his destroying Lyonnesse, but she knows enough about Gallifrey and the Time War to be wary of a pissed-off Time Lord.

"_Khatra_-price has not been a custom for some centuries, but I see no reason why it cannot be applied in this case," Dathiha says.

He suppresses a grin. _You haven't heard my price yet._

"Doctor? What's this price thingummy?"

He smiles at Rose. "It's a very old custom from Lyonnesse. In cases of murder or accidental death, the guilty party would pay a fine to the dead person's family. Later, it was extended to cover assault an' other crimes. Lots of cultures have done the same, including some on Earth."

"Yeah?" Rose sounds intrigued.

"Yeah. Your ancestors did it, an' the Irish an' the Vikings." He doesn't mention that there are still places on Earth in the twenty-first century where blood-price is law, and compensation for her life would be valued at 4000 pounds.

"Doctor, what's the calculation based on?" He's sure that Jack's seen similar practices on many planets, and wouldn't be surprised to learn that _his_ worth would be either 8000 or 1100 pounds, depending on his religion.

"On Lyonnesse? There was a complicated formula, mostly havin' to do with status. What job you held, if your family was nobility, that sort of. . . thing." He almost says 'rubbish', which is his honest opinion. The Doctor was raised in a far more status-conscious society, and he remembers the distorted views it held of so-called ordinary people. Nonsense, yes, but it isn't wise to openly insult a social practice that he intends to exploit for his own purposes. Not yet, any road.

"Being a Time Lord will not give you any advantage." Sojore's eyes are bright with malice. "You will be valued the same as any alien visitor."

He tries to remember if the status of a Time Lord has _ever_ been an advantage for him. Ignoring Sojore, he turns to his partners. "Elder Dathiha will have some questions for you. You need to answer them fully an' truthfully."

*****

It's a bit like filling in an application form, except that 'place of birth' doesn't usually mean 'planet and galaxy.' The Doctor provides the galactic coordinates for Earth, then helps her explain off-the-rack designer clothing. Yes, Henrik's sells clothing made from plants, insects, animals, and reptiles. Yes, she used to work in a chippie. No, she didn't invent the recipe for fish and chips.

Jack's last paying job -- con man doesn't count, evidently -- was as a barman on a space station in the Andromeda galaxy. She's surprised to learn that he's older than she thought. It's got something to do with 51st century genetics.

It's all completely barmy. She can't imagine what any of this has got to do with compensation for attempted murder, but the Doctor sounds completely confident, so she answers every barmy question.

It's the Doctor's turn. He doesn't wait to be asked; he starts spouting the answers to the questions. Place of birth: Gallifrey. He doesn't offer the galactic coordinates, and Dathiha doesn't ask for them. Perhaps it's like the postal code for Buckingham Palace, and isn't needed because everyone knows where that is.

His last paying job? Rose can't imagine the Doctor holding down any kind of regular job with a pay-cheque. "I was scientific adviser to a planetary defence organisation. On Earth," he adds.

Rose is still trying to wrap her mind around this revelation when the Doctor comes up with the last answer on the list of questions.

"In Lyonnesse reckoning, I'm--" He pauses, and it's got to be deliberate, because there's no way the Doctor has to stop to think about a basic maths problem. "I'm one thousand, two hundred and forty-six years old."

There are audible gasps around the room. "Havru's name!" one male Elder exclaims.

"Impossible!" Priyan insists.

Rose can't blame them for being gobsmacked. She remembers how she felt the first time the Doctor mentioned his age. She looks at Dathiha. The Chief Elder isn't surprised; she's uneasy, or even frightened.

"How do we know this is so?" Dathiha asks.

"Could cut me open an' try to count the rings, but since I'm not a tree, that wouldn't do you much good. DNA sequencing might do the trick -- _if_ you had someone capable of analysing triple-stranded DNA. Or--" He gives the Chief Elder a hard, cold stare. "You could accept that I'm tellin' the truth. You know enough about Time Lords to know that twelve hundred isn't much more than middle age for my people. An' why would I lie about this?"

"Because you desire vengeance," a sharp-faced Elder in yellow says.

The Doctor doesn't say a word.

"Rufenin, you're an idiot," another Elder snaps. "If the Doctor truly is a Time Lord, then he has more direct ways of seeking vengeance than lying to inflate his _khatra_-price. Or do you suppose that he fears us more than a Dalek battle fleet?"

_He might do_, Rose thinks. _Daleks just kill. You make him remember stuff he'd almost rather die than remember._

Dathiha bows her head and murmurs something under her breath, then looks straight at the Doctor. "We could never pay _khatra_-price for you and your companions, Time Lord. I believe you knew that even before you made your demand. What do you want of us?"

The Doctor smiles like a cat that sees a whole flock of canaries in a birdbath full of double cream. "If you lot can't pay _khatra_-price, then I demand indemnity service instead. The traditional eleven years should do nicely."

Dathiha looks so bewildered that for a moment Rose wonders if the TARDIS translation circuit has gone wonky. "Indemnity service? You want Eld-- Healer Sojore to be bound to you as an apprentice? For eleven years?"

"_Her? _ I wouldn't have _her_ for a nanosecond," the Doctor retorts. "No, I meant her accomplice -- the one who actually gave us the poison."

Rose and Jack stare at the Doctor. Before the Time Lord can say another word, his partners stammer, almost in unison, "Kurden?"

_tbc_


	15. Chapter 15

Jack stares at the Doctor. _Kurden? What the hell is _that _about? He can’t possibly think--_

“Doctor, you can’t possibly think that Kurden knew that the juice was drugged,” Dathiha protests.

“Poisoned,” the Doctor corrects. “And it doesn’t matter what I think. Doesn’t matter what the boy knew. By your law, he’s an accomplice, and old enough to take responsibility for his actions.”

“Before we pass judgment,” Dathiha says, “I wish to know more of what happened. There is no doubt that Kurden served the juice to the visitors. We do not know where he obtained it and why he brought it up to the caprock.”

“We know that -- well, half of it,” Rose says. “Kurden told us he got it from Merron.”

“Lies!” Priyan’s outrage isn’t much of a surprise, considering that Merron is his son. “Dathiha, you can’t believe--”

“I do not believe or disbelieve,” the Senior Elder replies, “but I must ask.”

A guard is sent to fetch Merron. The young sculptor stands stiffly in front of the Elders. He doesn’t look at his father, but he darts uneasy glances at Jack.

_Afraid I’m going to tell your dad about your illicit carving? Kid, I’ve got more important things on my mind than making trouble for you._

When Dathiha asks about the juice, Merron visibly relaxes. “Yes, Elder. I was on my way to the learning centre when Elder Sojore spoke to me. She said that she was concerned about dehydration and heat exhaustion among the workers on the caprock, especially the visitors, who were not used to the climate of Haven. She said that the spiced thorn-fruit juice was a good restorative, and could I please carry it up. I said yes, of course. I started to do it, but I didn’t-- I had to, umm, speak to. . . someone, so when I saw Kurden, I asked him to take up the juice. He being Master Estridon’s apprentice, I knew he’d be going up top.”

“And did you relate Elder Sojore’s message to him?”

“Yes -- well, mostly. I told him, ‘It’s good for thirst, so make sure the Out-- the visitors get some.’”

Dathiha asks a few more questions which only confirm what they already know. “Thank you, Merron,” she says gravely. “You may go. Do not discuss these matters with anyone until we give you leave to do so.” As soon as Merron hears the words of dismissal he hurries out of the chamber with one last anxious look at Jack.

“Right, then,” the Doctor says briskly. “You know what happened. Do you also need to ask Kurden if he did what a score of witnesses saw him do, or can we get on with this business of the indemnity service?”

Sojore chooses that moment to go supernova. “Do you see?” she shrieks. “If he cannot murder our children he will steal them!” She looks as though she might try to lunge at the Doctor. Jack steps forward, ready to take action, and more than half-hoping that action will be needed.

The chamber is loud with voices: angry, confused, worried. Guards appear and take up positions around the room. Three of them escort the former Elder to a seat in the rear of the chamber. Three more hover near the offworlders.

The Doctor stops dead in his tracks and turns to face them. “Jack. Need your help.”

Jack focuses his attention on the Doctor, ready for an order, an explanation, anything, but the Doctor only stands there. Motionless. Silent. It takes Jack a moment to understand that the Time Lord is waiting. It takes a moment more to understand what the Doctor is waiting for. He’s giving me a choice. Trusting me. It’s not as dramatic as the moment -- Was that only two days ago? -- when the Doctor begged his forgiveness, but it’s much more satisfying.

He nods at the Time Lord, and it’s like a circuit has clicked shut. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”

The Doctor leans forward and gathers both humans into the circle of his arms. “Right. This is what I need you to say--”

*****

When the Council reconvenes, Elder Dathiha looks calmer -- or perhaps just resigned. “Doctor. Do I understand correctly? You wish Kurden sa Trevisa i Everel to become your apprentice for a period of eleven--”

“Course not,” the Doctor says. “Don’t be daft.”

“Not the Doctor’s apprentice.” Jack takes a step forward. “‘Time Lord’ isn’t exactly a trade that can be taught. Kurden would be _my_ apprentice.”

“And what would _you_ teach him?” Priyan demands.

“Astrogation, quantum hyper-calculus. . . the usual. By the time I finish with him, he’ll be a damn fine pilot.”

“Pilot? Of what ship?” Dathiha asks. “Surely not the Time Lord vessel.”

The Doctor lets out a derisive snort.

Jack shakes his head. “No, just a normal spaceship.”

More murmuring as the Elders absorb this bit of news. Estridon’s clear voice rises above the commotion. “Doctor, will all of you be settling amongst us, or just Captain Harkness?”

“What’s that?” the Doctor asks.

_He doesn’t sound surprised_, Jack notes.

“As you know,” Estridon says calmly, “young Kurden is already my apprentice. Even if the Council grants you indemnity service, our law says you may not interfere with pre-existing bonds. We will have to share his service. And in the case of conflicting interests, the older bond takes precedence. Whatever Captain Harkness chooses to teach Kurden, it must be done here, on Haven.”

“Bugger,” the Doctor says mildly. “That would be inconvenient.” The Time Lord turns and looks at his partners. “Jack? Rose? You fancy spending the next eleven years here?”

“Not really,” Jack says honestly. He catches Estridon’s eye and gives the Senior Engineer an apologetic look. “I wouldn’t want to spend that many years on _any_ planet.”

Rose adds her agreement. “Mum would go spare if I stayed away for so long.”

Sojore half-rises from her seat in the rear of the chamber. “Our place of hiding will be your prison, Time Lord,” she says. “Your prison,” she repeats, and laughs.

“Maybe so,” the Doctor replies, “unless. . . Jack, would you be willing to subassign the apprenticeship to another instructor?”

Jack recognises his cue. “Of course, Doctor. If there was a trustworthy person with all the necessary skills.” He looks at Estridon.

The Senior Engineer returns Jack’s gaze calmly. “There is a slight impediment to your plans. Skills and knowledge are insufficient to teach piloting. A ship is also required.”

The Doctor didn’t have a chance to prep him for this part, but Jack’s always been good at improvising. “We’ll buy one,” he says with an arrogant lift of his chin that he copied from a certain Time Lord. It’s probably the truth. The Doctor may not care much about money, but the TARDIS contains enough treasure to sate the greediest dragon. Jack once saw Rose innocently wearing a hair ornament topped with a flame-opal that could have purchased several planets. “We’ll buy a ship,” he repeats.

“No need to go shopping,” the Doctor says. “The Estrafil owes me a favour. I took care of some pirates for his grandfather.”

Jack’s eyebrows would be in low orbit by now if they weren’t attached to his face. _The_ Estrafil is the current head of the Estrafil shipbuilding Family. ‘Took care of some pirates’ probably translates into ‘saved the Estrafil shipyards from devastation and most of the Family from death or slavery’. A major favour like that, unpaid for three generations, would be worth far more than one small ship.

There’s sputtering and griping, of course, but the Doctor has the Elders neatly trapped with their own law. Sooner than he would have thought possible, the Elders have a stack of documents for Jack to sign. There are some for his partners, too, full of defeasances and quitclaims. ‘Rose Marion Tyler’ is written carefully beneath a line of angular characters that Jack can’t read. He figures it must be Gallifreyan, since that’s the only language the TARDIS doesn’t translate, but it looks nothing like the circle-glyphs from the Doctor’s yellow sticky notes. He wonders if it says ‘The Doctor” or something else. A nasty insult? An old Gallifreyan proverb? A fuel conversion formula? The one thing he’s sure it’s _not_ is the Doctor’s original name. Then again, he muses as he writes ‘Capt. Jack Harkness’ for the tenth time, he can’t cast any stones.

He’s halfway through the stack when Kurden and his parents are escorted into the council chamber. The poor kid looks nervous. His parents look terrified. After Dathiha explains the agreement, Kurden’s eyes shine with joy. His parents are calmer, but not exactly delighted.

Jack sets the stylus down and pushes back the small table in front of him. “Hey, kid.”

“Jack!” Kurden fairly vibrates with excitement. “It’s true? I’m going to be a pilot?”

“You’re going to _learn_ how to be a pilot,” Jack says. “Whether you actually get to sit in the big chair depends on a lot of things -- mostly, how hard you study.”

“I will study hard,” Kurden promises. “But-- Jack? Will I see you again? And Rose and the Doctor,” he adds quickly.

Jack smiles, but shakes his head. “We won’t be back,” he says, “but you’ve got a good teacher. You’ll be fine.” He glances at the Doctor, who nods.

“Jack, stop jabbering and get the rest of those agreements signed,” the Time Lord says. “As for you--” He jabs a finger in Kurden’s direction. “What are you hanging about for? Nothing happening here ‘cept a lot of boring paperwork. You’ll want to tell your mates your news, I s’pose.” The Doctor's grin belies his gruff tone.

Kurden responds with a huge grin of his own. “Thank you, Doctor.” He sobers for a moment, and behind the boy’s face Jack can almost see the man he will become. “We will remember you -- always.”

 

*****

As soon as they have the go-ahead, Kurden’s parents chivvy him out of the Council chamber. Rose notices that they’re still clasping hands, though their grip loosened when Estridon explained that Kurden would remain on Haven, except during training flights. _They love him, and they want him to have his dream, but they don’t want to lose him_.

“We’d best be off,” the Doctor says. “Come along, Rose, Jack. Next stop, Estrafil Shipyards. We’ve got to organize a ship for your apprentice.”

“Doctor, I’ve been thinking about that,” Jack says casually. “We’re giving the Estrafil a chance to pay back a life debt.”

“Yeah, so?”

“He belongs to a very proud species. It might not go over very well if we only asked for something small, like a zeta-class.”

Rose listens but doesn’t interrupt. She remembers when three yobs tried to rob Mr. Patel, the newsagent. They threatened to beat up his daughter Sahira if he didn’t empty the till for them. It would’ve ended badly if Joe Tolley -- a rugby player and fifteen stone of solid muscle --hadn’t come in just then. _If Mr. Patel had offered Joe a reward, and Joe only asked for two packets of crisps, it would’ve been like saying that Sahira’s life was worth less than a quid._

“You’ve got a point,” the Doctor concedes. “What were you thinking of?”

Jack shrugs. “Upsilon-class?”

The Doctor grins. “Good choice.”

“You cannot simply announce that you will change the terms of the contract once you have signed it,” Elder Dathiha protests.

“The contract says that we will provide Kurden with a suitable ship to learn his craft,” Jack replies, and Rose knows he’s up to something when she sees his smile. “It doesn’t specify class or model.”

The Doctor looks at Estridon. “Elder? Is an upsilon-class StarRover acceptable to you?”

The Senior Engineer stares at them for a moment before replying. “But I would need--”

“Is it acceptable to you?” the Doctor asks again, and now Rose is sure that something important is going on.

“Entirely acceptable,” Estridon says.

“What is a StarRover?” Elder Priyan asks the question, but the Doctor aims his answer at Sojore.

“A StarRover is a long-range transport and trading vessel,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that’s sharp and cold and a bit brittle.

Rose remembers visiting a planet where the natives hadn’t yet discovered metalworking. They had razor-edged daggers chipped from blue flint the exact colour of the Doctor’s eyes.

Jack smiles. “Great ship, easy to handle. It only requires a crew of fifteen.”

Rose frowns. It takes a minute before the penny drops. She remembers something she learned when she talked to Kurden and the other young Haveners: of the A’atrans who survived the Journey, only five were crew-members of the _Arrow of Hope_.

Sojore looks like she’s been punched in the stomach. “No!”

“Estridon, why are you agreeing to this?” Dathiha demands. “What are you thinking, in Havru’s name?”

“I am thinking that our sister spoke more truth than she knew.” Estridon gestures at Sojore. “A place of safety becomes a prison when choice is taken away.”

“You would send our children out _there_?” Dathiha asks.

“I would give them the freedom to come and go as they choose.”

“Traitor!” Sojore hurls the word at Estridon like a stone. “How can you serve the cause of these Outsiders?”

“I serve only our people and their future,” Estridon says calmly.

“There is no future for us out there!” Sojore rages. “Or here. . . or anywhere. He and his kind destroyed our world, and now we have no future. Nothing remains for us but death.”

For a moment, Rose can almost feel sorry for Sojore, who has lost her world and her beloved prince, but then an anguished voice echoes in her memory: _They're all gone. I'm the only survivor_. “You can build a future if you want one,” she snaps, “or you you can sit there and blubber about the past. I know what I’d do if it was me.” She turns her back on Sojore and the Council of Elders. “Doctor, can we go now? I’m getting tired of this place.”

“Yeah, we can go,” the Doctor replies. “We’ll pay a visit to the Estrafil, choose a ship. There’ll be no need to return -- the Estrafil will see that the ship is delivered. We’re finished here.” He gives Estridon a quick, friendly nod. He does not look at Sojore.

Rose studies the former Elder. She’s motionless now, and her face is like stone. Only her eyes betray her pain and turmoil. Once again, Rose feels a twinge of compassion. She forces herself to remember the Doctor’s look of horror, his hands red with the blood of his lover. She recalls Jack curled on the ground, trembling uncontrollably. “Yeah, we’re done here.” She turns and walks briskly towards the TARDIS. Jack and the Doctor fall in on either side of her.

None of them look back.

 

*****

 

He’s never felt so glad to be walking into the TARDIS. Judging from their body language, Rose and Jack feel the same way. It’s not surprising, considering what they’ve been through -- what _he_ put them through. They’re content enough for the moment, relieved to be in the safe, familiar confines of the TARDIS. That won’t last. Soon enough, they’ll be thinking about the past two days.

He knows they’ll forgive him for the fear and pain they’ve suffered. He doesn’t deserve absolution, but his humans are generous almost to the point of foolishness. They’ll forgive the hurt he caused them. Jack has already forgiven him for his thoughtless, cruel arrogance of the other day.

The hurt he caused others. . . that’s a different matter. Even before they landed on Haven, Jack and Rose knew far too much about the ugliness of the Time War. Now they know the horrors he inflicted on planets like Lyonnesse. Even someone as battle-scarred as Jack would be shocked; even someone as compassionate as Rose would turn away in disgust.

“Doctor?” Rose is looking at him.

He manages to smile. It’s not hard to smile at Rose.

“Can we get out of here? Not any planet, just into the Vortex?”

“Sounds good.” He turns to the console. Jack’s already moving to his spot, and Rose is reaching out for the helmic regulator. Within ten point three seconds the TARDIS has dematerialised.

Jack announces, “I think it’s time for bed.”

“I haven’t got much energy,” Rose warns him.

“At the risk of ruining my reputation as a non-stop lover, I was mostly thinking of cuddling,” he confesses.

“That sounds good.”

The Doctor says casually, “You two go on ahead. I jus’ want to check some of the navigational settings.” He pats the console. “We had a bit of a wild ride earlier.”

Jack shakes his head. “We’ll wait for you.”

“There’s no--” he begins.

Before he can even begin his excuse, they enfold him. Rose wraps her arms around him and lays her head against his chest. Jack slips behind him and holds both of his lovers in a tight embrace.

“We need you,” Jack whispers. “Need you to hold us and touch us.”

“And we need to take care of you,” Rose adds. “Need to know you’re all right -- really, truly all right.”

Rassilon! How can two humans, a mere fraction of his age, make him feel young and vulnerable? He surrenders, letting them lead him to their shared bedroom. The lighting is muted, the cotton sheets cleanly-scented with lavender and pine. The TARDIS hums softly in the background.

Jack and Rose get undressed. Sometimes they make it a friendly race; sometimes a provocative strip show. Today, it’s just calm efficiency. Jack folds his clothing with military neatness. Rose tosses hers on a chair. The two humans flop onto the wide bed, moving to their usual positions -- Jack on the far side, Rose in the middle -- leaving the near side for him, as he’s the one who sleeps the least.

They turn on their sides, facing him. Jack’s right arm is loosely draped over Rose’s thigh. She leans back, resting against his chest, and lets out a soft sigh. “This is good.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “Doctor? You joining us?”

He doesn’t deserve them; doesn’t deserve the quiet pleasure to be found in their arms. He should turn around and walk out, leaving them to comfort each other. Only thing is, they want him. They think they need him, and he can’t resist that any more than he can resist the gravitational pull of a black hole. He strips off all of his clothing except for the briefs. Once on the bed, he rolls onto his right side. His hand reaches out, as if of its own accord, stroking the curve of Jack’s jaw, the sweet hollow of Rose’s throat. He’s lost; he’s well and truly lost. _Passed the event horizon long ago with these two._

They reach for him, in turn. Hands caress him, hold him, pull him closer. After a few minutes Rose lets out a good-natured curse at the awkwardness of their position and clambers over him, so he’s sandwiched between the two humans. Their scents surround him: sweat, stale breath, perfume, pheromones and shampoo. It’s a jumble of odours, a kind of olfactory cacophony, and it ought to drive him bonkers, but he finds it oddly comforting.

He remembers when Rose first came on board the TARDIS. For almost a week straight she wandered into the kitchen in the middle of the ship’s night when she ought to be sleeping. He was starting to wonder if she regretted her decision to come with him. Several times he nearly asked her if she wanted to go home, but bit back the question for fear she’d say yes.

On the sixth night she set down her mug of tea with such force that it would have sloshed all over the table if it wasn’t mostly empty. “It’s too quiet,” she told him. “My room -- I can’t sleep ‘cos it’s too quiet.”

The penny dropped. Rose was a Londoner, used to the noises of a busy city drifting through her window. “Think I can do something about that,” he said, and installed a simple sound generator on her nightstand that produced a mishmash of traffic, voices, and music. He thought it was hideous, but to Rose it was a lullaby because it sounded like home.

And now he is lying between two humans, their odours of their alien bodies mingling with other scents. He ought to be repelled or at least disinterested, but the truth is -- they smell like home. _Don’t deserve that, never again, home is gone in rubble and flame and it’s all his fault_. . .

He must have let out a sound, because Rose murmurs “Hush,” and grasps him tightly with trembling arms, and Jack peppers his face with desperate kisses, and without words they make him understand that he is home for them, too. Jack’s cock twitches slightly, and he can smell the moisture between Rose’s thighs, but they need safety more than they need sex, and within minutes they fall asleep. And because he is home and they are safe, and miraculously don’t hate him as they ought to, he also falls asleep, tangled in their arms and legs, trapped by the gravitational force of their love.

 

_To be concluded in the Epilogue_


	16. Epilogue

Omicron Station is  the shopping destination of the 34th century, Jack assures her.  The Doctor grunts assent.  He isn’t showing much excitement.  No surprise there.  The Doctor has limited patience for any kind of shopping that doesn’t involve technical doodads or spare parts for the TARDIS.  Oh, he’ll pop in and out of shops, give them a look-see, and then move on, but serious hardcore shopping?  Not his thing.

And that’s just too bad, because Rose is not going to be rushed.  She is a woman on a mission.  Her mum’s birthday is coming up, and Rose intends to buy her the perfect gift.  “I want something that suits her, something that she’ll really love.”

The Doctor mutters, “A gift that Jackie Tyler would appreciate?  I could jus’ take you to PoundStretcher.”

Rose gives him the patented Death Glare of the Tyler Women.  He rolls his eyes, but immediately starts talking to Jack about the micro-magnetic thingummy on a nearby display.  She ignores them both and eyes the next shop, which is labelled with an elegant grey and white sign.   Select Splendours: Fine Art, Fashion, &amp; Antiquities (Torv Chojede, prop.) .  She steps inside and a soft chime sounds.

A young woman looks up from behind a sleek metal counter.  Her skin is blue, and she reminds Rose of Raffalo, the cheerful Crespallion plumber she met on Platform Five.  The resemblance ends there.  Instead of a boiler-suit and a cap, she’s wearing a formal gown that looks like a sari made from yellow snakeskin, and her smile is  not sweet and shy.  “May I help you?”

Rose knows very well how those four words can be used to mean all sorts of things, including their exact opposite.  Mrs. Morrison at Hendrick’s had it down to a fine art.  “No, thanks,” she says brightly.  “I’m looking for a gift for my mum.”

“I don’t think you’ll find anything here that suits your. . . tastes,” Blue Girl replies coolly.

Rose silently translates that remark:  ‘I don’t think you can afford us.’  She’d like to take the credit chip the Doctor gave her and wave it in Blue Girl’s face, only that would be really naff.  She could walk out, but that would make the stuck-up cow think she won.  Besides, Rose has spotted some lovely pieces that she’d like to examine more closely.  There’s more than one way to demonstrate that she can afford to shop here.

Before she can reply, she hears the entry chime sound twice.  “Is there a problem here?” the Doctor asks.  She doesn’t have to see his face to know that he’s scowling.  He must have heard what Blue Girl said.

“No problem,” Rose says promptly.  “Was just about to look at some jewellery.”  She turns to the shop assistant.   “Have you got anything with flame-opals?” she asks, and is pleased to see Her Blue Bitchiness startle.  Back in her room in the TARDIS, Rose has a hair ornament with a flame-opal on it.  It’s a pretty, sparkly thing the size of a small apricot.  The Doctor won’t say anything about it, but Rose has seen Jack staring at it, and she suspects that it’s worth a fair bit -- perhaps as much as two hundred quid.

“Flame-opals?” Blue Girl squeaks.

“You heard the lady,” the Doctor says firmly.  “She’d like to see some flame-opals.”  The two blokes step forward, one on either side of Rose.  

Jack gives the Doctor a funny look.  “Flame-opals?  For Jackie?”

The Doctor shrugs.  “If that’s what Rose wants.”

Rose smiles.  Despite his gripes and grumbles and jokes about PoundStretcher, the Doctor doesn’t dislike her mum.  He’ll pay for her to have flame-opals, if Rose wants them.  

She doesn’t want them.  The only flame-opals in the shop are tiny ones, no bigger than raisins, and they don’t sparkle like hers does.  She takes one glance and waves them away without even asking the price.   Mum ‘ud rather have something more colourful.

“We could look elsewhere,” Jack suggests, but there’s something in his expression that he doesn’t expect to find better flame-opals than these on Omicron Station.  Maybe they’re not fashionable in this galaxy or this century.  That would explain why Blue Girl looked so gobsmacked.

Another blue person steps out of the back office.  This one is a bloke in a dark grey suit with narrow, silver-edged lapels and a sleek silver skullcap. “I am Torv Chojede, the proprietor.  May I help you?”  He says the last four words as if he means them.  He dismisses Blue Girl with a peremptory flicker of his fingers, and she retreats behind the counter, pouting.

Rose introduces herself and her partners, and explains about the birthday gift.  No, it needn’t be jewellery -- something like a blouse or a scarf might be nice.

“But of course.”  Chojede leads them to a display marked ‘Eilunas’.  Just as Hendrick’s used to arrange clothing by designer, not type of garment, this shop displays items by world.  

Rose has never been to Eilunas.  She doesn’t know if its people are purple or green, if they have arms or wings or tentacles, one head or three, but she knows that they like bright colours.  She reaches out for a silky pleated scarf that looks like the aftermath of an explosion in a flower shop.  “I bet Mum would love this.”

Jack strokes the scarf.  “I don’t know what your mother likes, but the Eilunasi are renowned for their textiles.”

“What do you think, Doctor?   Doctor? ”  Rose looks around, and swallows a sigh.  The Doctor is standing just inside one of the shop’s many niches.  She heads in his direction, Jack at her side.  They’re only a few steps away from the Time Lord when they see that he’s staring at a small grey sign.   Lyonnesse.

“What the--” Jack exclaims.  Rose is too gobsmacked to say anything.

Torv Chojede appears beside them as smoothly as if he teleported.  “Ah, the Lyonnesse Collection.  Marvellous, isn’t it?”

‘Marvellous’ is a very good word.  The shelves and racks in this section hold every conceivable kind of artisanry: clothing, wall-hangings, jewellery, ceramic bowls, stained-glass, and sculptures in stone and metal and clay.  Small, freestanding holographs represent items too large to fit into the shop.  The style is very familiar, though she doesn’t recognise any specific design.

“Where did all this come from?” the Doctor demands.

Chojede smiles like someone who knows a delightful secret.  “Not a planet you’d have heard of.  It’s an artist’s colony beyond the back end of nowhere.  They call themselves the Lyonnesse Artisans’ Cooperative because their work is inspired by the ideals of beauty and perfection that were said to have flourished on the mythical world of Lyonnesse.  They don’t welcome visitors.  In fact, most of the artists never leave the colony.  They have a small fleet of trading ships that bring artworks to a few select galleries--”  He performs a self-deprecating bow.  “--and carry back supplies and raw materials.  Really, it’s hard to imagine how sheer loveliness can come out of such desolate bleakness.”

He gestures at a painting -- or maybe it’s a sculpture, because parts of the image are three-dimensional and jut out of the frame.  Rose stares at a familiar landscape of high, layered cliffs and red rocks.  Familiar, but not, because in the distant background she can see a row of ten or more sleek shapes glinting in the bright sunlight.  They’re clearly metallic, and yet somehow the artist has created the impression of a flock of birds perched on the ground and ready to take to the sky at a moment’s notice.

“Spaceships,” she murmurs.  “So many of them-- how long’s it been?”

“About eighty years,” Jack says.

“Eighty-three point seven,” the Doctor corrects without looking away from the picture.

Tove Chojede might be confused by their conversation, but he’s too good a salesman to show it.  “If that theme interests you. . .”  He gestures at another painting.  It’s a closeup of the same row of spaceships.  Each one is shown in enough detail that Jack and the Doctor could probably identify the model and the engine specs, or whatever details outer-space petrolheads obsess over.

She’s looking for an artist’s signature when Jack takes in a sharp breath.  He points a shaking finger at the wing-like fin of the nearest ship.  The silver metal is marked with a stylized bright blue rectangle which is divided into eight smaller rectangles -- five in a deeper blue and three in a blurry mixture of pale grey and white.  “What is that?”

“The blue pattern?” Tove Chojede asks.  “I don’t know.  It’s not the emblem of the colony, which is a sort of holy flower.  That blue pattern  is actually marked on all of their trading ships -- at least, it’s on all of the ones that have docked here at the Station.”  He smiles encouragingly at the three visitors.  “Is it important?  I suppose I could ask their representative the next time a ship docks.”

Rose shakes her head.  “No-- but thanks for offering.”  She glances at Jack, and he nods.  Her eyes aren’t deceiving her -- that geometrical pattern  is a sort of abstract-art version of the TARDIS.

They look at the Doctor and then at each other, and though Jack isn’t much of a telepath, and Rose isn’t one at all, they hold an entire conversation without speaking a word.

  
*0*0*

Rassilon!  It’s a pity that the Intergalactic Olympic Committee doesn’t count shopping as a sport, because Rose Tyler would be guaranteed to win several gold medals.  She buys the gaudy Eilunasi scarf for her mum, but that’s just the beginning.  This event isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon, and Rose is running strong.

He’s not quite sure how it turned from ‘buy Jackie a birthday present’ to ‘nearly buy out the whole shop’.  Part of it is Jack’s fault.  When he and Rose set each other off, whether it’s bad jokes or sex or shopping, the momentum created seems to defy the normal laws of physics.  The energy just keeps growing.  Rose selects the scarf; Jack finds a brooch that matches it.  He talks Rose into trying on a slinky, hand-embroidered gown, which then needs all sorts of accessories.  They find other things: a crackle-glazed milk pitcher for the TARDIS’ kitchen, pink feathered earrings, a pair of titanium cufflinks set with sapphires that match Jack’s eyes, a picnic basket, and a flower vase that sings in three-part harmony.

The Doctor doesn’t mind.  They’ve more than earned a bit of fun, his humans.  And it’s just money, after all.  He’d be more cautious if he thought it could corrupt them, but Rose is still an innocent in so many ways, and Jack’s brief career as a con man was based on revenge, not greed.

The only item he refuses is a ring they want to buy for him, set with pale blue chalcedony that matches his own eyes.  He doesn’t wear jewellery in this incarnation.  His third self would have appreciated it, but he’s not that man any longer.  He can’t be.  That man was an exile, forcibly planet-bound to one primitive world.  He was angry and bitter -- and he had the luxury of a home to be exiled  from .

They exit the shop weighed down by twenty-eight carrier bags of iridescent grey silkiplast marked with the Select Splendours logo.  Tove Chojede offered to have their purchases delivered, but the Doctor didn’t want to explain why their ship is in a maintenance access tunnel rather than a proper berth.

Halfway to the TARDIS, Rose lets out a soft curse.  “I forgot a bag -- the one with the whatsit.”

Jack offers to run back and fetch it.  They’re near an ice cream shop which seems like a good enough place to wait.  Rose settles at a table with the bags.  He goes up to the window and orders three milkshakes: banana for himself, chocolate for Rose, and passionfruit-mint for Jack.

When Jack returns with a large carrier bag, he gives Rose a look.  She doesn’t respond, exactly, but he can sense a message passing between the two humans.  A harmless secret of some sort.  Most likely they’ve bought him a gift.  He hopes it’s not the ring, because he won’t wear it, not even for them.  And it will hurt him to tell them so.

Once inside the TARDIS, Rose announces that she wants a quiet night in.  She wants to admire her purchases, wash her hair, and paint her toenails.  

Jack adds his vote of approval.  “We could help,” he suggests.  “I’d love an opportunity to decorate you.  Doctor, are you feeling. . . artistic tonight?”

The Doctor chuckles.  Trust Jack to find an excuse for sex in almost any activity.  He doesn’t mind.  Whatever they want to do is fine with him, so long as it doesn’t involve leaving the TARDIS.  That shopping spree might have put them into a mood to celebrate in public: dinner at the Station’s finest restaurant, maybe, or dancing at a club.  Another time it might please him, too, but tonight he wants only the privacy of his ship, the company of his lovers, and some time to think.

Rose’s eyes flash indignantly.  “Oh no, Jack Harkness -- you are  not gonna mess up my nails by painting them with dirty pictures, or with nasty words in some alien language.  You can just wait until I’m finished.”  She pauses, and there’s a wicked promise in her smile.  “Three coats of colour and one of clear.”  Now that mischievous smile is aimed in  his direction.  “And no sonicking them dry, Doctor.  Just doesn’t look right when you do that.”

  
*0*0*

Awakening the next morning is slow and sweet and leisurely.  That is, the humans are waking.  He’s been awake for hours, but he stayed in bed with them, busying his mind by running through plasma mix formulas.  Among other things.  Jack stirs first, and his movements awaken Rose.  She grumbles, burying her face in the pillow.  Humans spend a ridiculous amount of time sleeping, but Rose has made an art-form of it.  Eventually he lures her out of bed and Jack lures her into the kitchen with promises of Castabiluid waffles with grindleberry syrup.  

After breakfast, Rose reminds him for the third time that they need to bring Jackie her birthday present.  Jack catches her eye, and she nods.  “But first, there’s another gift that needs unwrapping.”

The Doctor raises both brows.  “Oh?”

“I’ll fetch it,” Jack offers.  He walks out the kitchen door, returning almost immediately with a carrier bag and a startled expression.  The Doctor relaxes slightly.  If the TARDIS expedited the retrieval, then she approves of it -- whatever  it may be.  Or at least she doesn’t think it will fuss him.

When Jack re-enters the kitchen, Rose moves to his side.  “We thought you’d like this, because-- well, you’ll see.”

Jack holds out a large, flat box tied with a silver ribbon.  The Doctor hesitates a moment, then takes the package and sets it on the table in front of him.  He glances from his partners to the box and back again.  

“Open it, Doctor,” Jack says.

“But no sonicking,” Rose commands with mock sternness.  

The Doctor unties the silver ribbon and tosses it aside.  He lifts the top of the box.  He stills.  No breath, no movement, not even a blink.

“They remember you, and what you did for them,” Jack says.  “They will  always remember you.”

“And you need to remember them.”  Rose leans forward.  “Doctor?  Do you--?  Is it okay?”

The Doctor lifts the painting from the box as if it is as fragile as a snowflake, as ephemeral as hope; as if a sudden movement might startle those silver ships with their blue tails into taking flight from the weathered red landscape.  He looks up, studying his lovers with that same intense, wondering gaze.  They understand.  They know what this means to him.  It’s forgiveness, absolution made tangible.  “S’pose so,” he says in a casual tone that fools no one.  “Yeah, it’s okay.”

Two smiles light the room, as sudden and dazzling as a binary star flaring into a supernova.  Two foolish human hearts blaze into joy.

In a mercurial shift of mood he jumps to his feet, grinning.  “Come along, you two!  No time for lollygagging -- we’ve got a birthday party to attend.  Next stop, Powell Estate!  Rose, do you want to get a cake?  I know this little bakery on Beta Ophiuchi VII that has fantastic birthday cakes.  No candles -- you set the whole cake on fire, right there at the table.  It makes a caramel glaze, sort of like gooey lava--”  By the time he gets to ‘bakery’ he’s out the kitchen door, heading towards the console room.  Rose and Jack run after him, and the corridor echoes with their laughter.

  


\---THE END ---


End file.
